Tempest Squadron, Part Two
by Capernucus
Summary: The squadron has been formed, but can a band of misfits stick together and survive in the face of adversity? Second part of Tempest Squadron.


**CHAPTER EIGHT**

The _Vigilante_'s bridge was filled with clattering noises. Communications officers were madly issuing orders over their units, officers were calling out orders to their obedient troops, and other officers were talking amongst each other. One such group stood outside the room in the antechamber, with the door open to the bridge.

Captain Eiun Rugh stood there, nearest the bridge, speaking to his junior officers. Lieutenant Gonoe was giving a thorough report on Admiral Bandanor's position in the sector. The young lieutenant explained that the fleet had arrived at their new headquarters and was well on their way to completing the task.

Two other lieutenants were giving their own reports on their situation and Rugh was glad that his people were communicating with the admiral. Rugh himself had not spoken with the admiral since they had left the fleet for Sinagig. He was too afraid to tell Bandanor anything, whether it was about the lost probe or their problem with pirate threats.

Just a day before, two Corellian gunships emerged from hyperspace bearing the Acaroid Pirates insignia. The pirates had provoked them, but no damage was done to either side. This had been happening for the past week, each day another ship or two would arrive at Harvest, as if checking to see if _Vigilante_ was still there. It was, and would be until _Tendentious_ arrived. When that was, no one had a clue.

The fifth man in the room was a human of around sixty standard years, had grey hair, and wore an old Imperial delegate's uniform. Tilin Vor'shak, ambassador to what was the Galactic Empire, sat in a chair while the others stood. His features were worn, having led an eventful life. He sat with his hands clasped on the small board that served as a table for the chair's occupant. His hands were most likely placed where they were, so no one got the wrong impression and shot him for holding a gun. The _Vigilante_'s scanners, placed around the hangars, air locks, and especially the bridge, picked up at least one blaster pistol and a vibroblade. The guards hadn't frisked him and weren't about to do so. If Vor'shak intended to assassinate Rugh or his officers, he would have been very disappointed. Half the guards aboard the ship would be on him, even if he drew his weapon, let alone fired it.

As a gesture of courtesy, mainly, Rugh had allowed the ambassador to keep his weapon. Gonoe's eyes were constantly on the man, daring him to draw a weapon. The fiery lieutenant had a reason to be so angry at the Empire, for they had given up Coruscant on purpose. Rumor had it that the Empire also leaked the information about the second Death Star, and many other projects, which led to Rugh's defection.

Vor'shak smiled encouragingly before he spoke. "Captain Rugh, I have been sent here, as you may already know, at the request of Captain Azia, an Imperial officer. It seems that you've destroyed the _Exodus_, her sister ship, which was signed over to her a few weeks ago, in order to complete a very important mission.

"Needless to say, she was quite upset when Warlord Fiell destroyed the _Exodus_. The warlords are reduced to shambles, and the only way we can survive is if we band together. We cannot do so as long as warlords are attacking our ships."

Rugh nodded apologetically. "I'm truly sorry for this catastrophe, and also wish that there could be such an alliance. I'm, however, afraid that neither I nor Admiral Bandanor had anything to do with the _Exodus_. We were merely passing through when it happened. As you already know, Warlord Fiell attacked the _Exodus_."

"Yes, and we've put a bounty on his head: fifty thousand Imperial credits. But it disturbs me to know that your fleet is allied with Warlord Fiell. May I ask what you wish to gain by this alliance?"

Rugh leaned against the bulkhead of the ship and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I cannot speak for Admiral Bandanor, and only he truly knows why we are not attacking Fiell. I think that it is because of Fiell's _Judgmental_ task force. Admiral Bandanor denies this and says that he is not intimidated by the warlord in any way and could kill him any time he pleases."

"You," began Vor'shak, "believe this statement? Since I can see you are not in the position to speak for the admiral, I will request that you bring him to me and in the meantime, enlighten me on your thoughts of the war."

"I would be glad to speak of my thoughts," stated Rugh with a grin. "Personally, I think Warlord Fiell and Admiral Bandanor are both egotistic, bloodsucking vampires who like to compare dick sizes, in order to see who rules their fleets."

Vor'shak raised an eyebrow curiously. "I take it that you do not like either of them."

"Let's just say I know too many of their dirty secrets to respect either of them. I could do just as well by myself, as you can see from the outpost I've created on Harvest."

"Yes, before being transported here, I was allowed to visit Harvest's facilities. I felt a little queasy down there and some of the power generators seemed far too big to serve as only a temporary base."

They had their difficulties with the strange atmosphere, too. Rugh couldn't exactly think of the correct words to describe it, but the moon seemed to be sucking all the energy that it received into the core, where it bottled it up for a long time. Geysers in the area erupted frequently during overloads, causing much difficulty for his troops on the first few days.

From a special supply, Rugh received a constant flow of gas for the ever-draining energy containers, but never enough that could trigger a lunar combustion, which was very possible. He had also received a special quick-build facility, which he had put up in a single day for the ground crews.

"I must wonder, though, what can you hope to accomplish on Harvest? There is practically nothing there."

Rugh nodded sternly. "If you knew what I knew, you'd know that because there is _nothing_ down there, is exactly why I choose it."

Vor'shak through him a startled look, one of the utmost concern and curiosity. "Really?"

Rugh nodded as Ensign Jacathrey entered the room, carrying a durasheet. She handed it to Rugh and he looked it over briefly. "It seems that the _Tendentious_ has returned. Ambassador Vor'shak, you may get your wish after all."

He left the antechamber to stand on the bridge as the _Tend_ came into view. He kept his gaze locked on the ship, but felt his knees buckling. When he had dispatched the mighty ship, it had been fully equipped with weapons and without a scratch on it. When it returned, it was a giant wreck, stripped away were a few of its cannons, with a charred hull from the midship to rear, on the ventral side of the frigate/carrier.

As soon as he was patched through, he called, "_Tendentious_ control, this is Captain Rugh. I might ask what happened, and please don't tell me that the shuttle did this to you."

Hours later, aboard the recently installed Golan Defense platform at Bandanor's headquarters, Captain Rugh and Ambassador Vor'shak chatted with some crewmen in the observation deck of the station. Commander Warty, the ship's captain, was around Rugh's age, and had already lost most of his hair on his head. He was clean-shaven and looked like a newborn baby from the front.

Rugh debriefed the commander, picking up question here and there and asking them as they went. He was very disappointed to hear of the twenty-one ships lost in the battle—twelve bombers, three Interceptors, and five fighters—but he knew that the other side would be reeling for much longer than he would. Still, Admiral Bandanor would not be pleased in the least bit.

They waited there for another half an hour, until the admiral finally decided to grace them with his audacious appearance.

The door flew open, sending a small gust of air in their direction. Admiral Shrok Bandanor, all six feet of him, strolled in briskly, with his lengthy cape dragging behind him. The floors were spotless. Otherwise, Bandanor would have chosen something a bit shorter, to not dirty any of his prized objects. He had thick, brown eyebrows that were longer than normal. His face was very round and his eyes a rare shade of purple, almost looking pink. His fingers were approximately 1.3 times as long as most humans, with short, stubby hands. His fingernails were naturally darker than average and thicker than most. Every one of these features was due to the world he grew up on, where he looked like everyone else, theoretically.

He was dressed in the casual clothing that most of his kind enjoyed wearing. He had long, silvery hair that went down to his shoulders, making him stand out in a crowd quite vividly. His cape was shiny black on the outside and blood red on the inside, making it reversible if the occasion called for it. He wore the Tsijennan battle armor, which enveloped his entire body in tight, dark blue underwear with black plates of armor on his chest, back, legs, arms, and groin. Rugh imagined there was such a plate on his ass, concealed by the capes he constantly wore, but never took it upon himself to find out.

"Preparing for war, Admiral Bandanor?" Vor'shak asked humorously, with a hint of revulsion in his fair voice. "Or do the female officers find your suit attracting?"

"More than you could imagine," he said, "to both questions."

Rugh was sitting on a comfortable recliner, with his elbows on the translucent coffee table in front of him. His hands were clasped together in a praying motion as he stared into the eyes of his senior officer. "Sir, this is Ambassador Tilin Vor'shak of the Empire. He's clean and not carrying any bugs, so this station is quite safe."

Vor'shak eyed Rugh with amusement from his equally comfortable seat across from the captain. "Really, Captain Rugh, do you seriously believe that I haven't seen the coordinates to this world? I assure you, if I wanted to I would have already called in the fleet that you _believe _is stashed away around here, and they would be breathing down you necks by now."

"Or waiting for the right time to strike."

Vor'shak's amusement multiplied. "The only ship near your position is the _Executioner_, Captain Azia's ship, and she resides half a sector away from here. You have my word on that."

"This is a small sector," chided Lieutenant Gonoe. "It could be crossed in no time, at all."

Bandanor took a seat on the recliner, next to Rugh. "Enough with this idle talk. I have received reports from all of my officers except for Rugh, and I'm anxious to here where he got the _Tendentious_ and why he's using my repair facilities to salvage her."

Rugh swallowed hard, keeping his gaze in front of him. He could not bring himself to admit his failure openly to the admiral's face. He nodded to Gonoe, who stood and led Warty, Vor'shak, and the other officers to a side room, so he could speak in private with the admiral. Once the group had exited the room, he began his debriefing, from their arrival in the Sinagig System.

"When Warlord Fiell pulled _Vigilante_ out of hyperspace, waiting in ambush for a ship, he attacked and destroyed the Imperial ship _Exodus_, which you may have already known. I decided that it would be good to gather some information on the ship before it was destroyed, so I dispatched a spy probe to do some reconnaissance work. After the _Exodus_ was destroyed, I lost contact with the probe.

"It was only as my ship entered hyperspace that I realized the probe contained sensitive information in its data banks. As soon as we arrived here, when I went out for a patrol run, I actually went back to Sinagig. There, pirate bands were fighting over the remains, for some odd reason, and as soon as they were weak, I attacked and they withdrew from the System. It turned out that one of my shuttles had been stolen by rogue Imperials and they claimed to be carrying the probe. They demanded money, and I refused, instead hauling them in with a tractor beam.

"The crew turned out to be not carrying the probe and the actual ship had entered hyperspace, calling our bluff. We tracked them to a civilian refueling center, which was low on fuel, due to high taxes from the blasted Republic, where they jumped to Gaffeo 2. They emerged from hyperspace about ten hours later and made their way to the Gaffeo system via thrusters.

"We called in the _Tendentious_ from one of your acquaintances on Tsijenna, in fact. They were more than happy to do so for a nominal fee—which I paid for with my own credits—then I sent the _Tend_ to Gaffeo 2 to intercept the shuttle. We lost a few ships, but managed to destroy the New Republic base and the nearby military complexes on the moon. Unfortunately, the shuttle made it groundside and the _Tendentious_ was driven back to Sinagig. That was when I came back here."

"Are you quite finished?" asked Bandanor, his jaw hanging open. "Good. Now we can establish why in hell you would take such an action. What exactly was on that probe, anyway?"

Rugh nodded, trying to conceal the stream of sweat that was flowing down his face. He looked around the room, as if conferring with someone, and stared hollowly at the coffee table again. "Coordinates to Headquarters, new and old, blueprints of groundside facilities on our outposts, location and capability of our ships, this station's map, and . . . well, that's enough to make it vital to reclaim."

Bandanor twisted his odd head around in several circles and glanced critically at the captain. Rugh met his gaze, with repentance and not the anger that his superior was broadcasting to him.

Rugh couldn't even imagine what would happen if he told Bandanor the rest of the probe's contents. No one spoke for a few very long moments, and a protocol droid strolled in the observation deck, carrying drinks on a tray. The droid set the tray down on the coffee table, removed its contents, and lifted the tray back to elbows' length. "Admiral Bandanor, are there not any other guests? I brought enough for eight, just to make sure."

Bandanor didn't answer, his fiery eyes still locked on Rugh, so the other answered. "Just leave them there, and they'll get them in a minute."

"Yes, captain. Is there anything else I can do for you?" After the droid waited and received no reply, he opened his speech box to repeat and thought better of it. He turned on his heel and headed out the door, shutting it behind him.

Shrok Bandanor spoke very carefully, when he did. "Captain, I should demote you to ensign and have you shipped to the remote outpost of Derengera Five."

Rugh nodded understandingly, but couldn't resist the sharp pain in his side. "Yes, my lord."

"But that would not solve anything, now would it?"

"If you do not think so, sir."

Bandanor lifted his feet and laid them on the coffee table, reaching for his drink. "It wouldn't solve one thing. So I'm going to give you one more chance. If the rebels access that data, we're almost definitely through. I'm giving you the _Vigilante_, _Tendentious_, and a full fighter support for both ships. That's three full wings, so be sure to take care of them. You have authorization to use any means necessary to destroy that probe and anybody who knew of it. Do a good job and you'll _keep_ your job. Feel free to destroy any rebels who get in your way."

Rugh killed a grin that was creeping up his face. "Yes sir, of course. But what of these mercenaries called the Acaroid Pirates? They present a great threat to us, too."

"Leave them be, unless they have anything to do with the probe."

"Thank you, sir."

The others were called back in, taking their seats and sipping their drinks. Bandanor called upon any first-hand witnesses, and Wing Commander Mek Omar described the events that took place at Gaffeo 2, in detail. One thing that he neglected to mention was the odd behavior of Reaper Twenty, who went berserk during the conflict.

A few other witnesses, including Captain Warty and some squadron commanders, filled Admiral Bandanor in on the events from their point-of-view, with equal detail. Rugh caught no hint of his superior being disturbed by the events, yet again he caught no hint of _any_ emotions from the man, so he quietly sat back and drank his beverage, waiting for the debriefing to end.

As to Captain Rugh's request, none of the officers mentioned anything about the probe's remaining contents that were left unsaid by him nor did they mention his little facility on Harvest.

He was planning on keeping them both to himself and the officers who served under him, leaving Bandanor in the dark for as long as possible, maybe even forever.

The debriefing went on for another thirty minutes. In that time, all of the officers had spoken their minds and had finished their drinks. Bandanor granted some requests made by them and dismissed the others.

Lieutenant Gonoe had eased up midway through the conversation, but was eager to hear what the plan was from Rugh. Gonoe always wanted to be in the information circle, and as first officer aboard the star destroyer_ Vigilante_, Rugh permitted him with almost everything he knew. _Almost_ everything; some things were better left unsaid by Rugh, for the lieutenant's own sake.

Bandanor kicked them off the deck a short time later, so he could do something there that he wouldn't speak of to them. Mek Omar requested to stay a little longer, and he was allowed three extra minutes.

Rugh and his officers left the deck, making their way to their temporary rooms until the _Tend_ was repaired. Gonoe followed Rugh to his quarters, almost jumping with excitement to hear the news.

Rugh invited him in, where they sat at the small table. The captain filled in Gonoe with everything that he felt compelled to state, and then the lieutenant left. Rugh rose from the table, walking the half-meter to his bed, where he collapsed. Due to exhaustion, he fell asleep within forty seconds.

Wing Commander Mek Omar remained seated in the observation deck after the others left. Bandanor waved a hand, as if to get Omar to speak.

"Sir, something's wrong with my men."

"Explain, commander."

Omar did, leaving nothing out of the strange encounter with Reaper Twenty and the sudden change of moods by three more of his pilots midway between Harvest and Headquarters. Bandanor suggested that it was only because of the defeat they had suffered at Gaffeo 2, but Omar knew that wasn't the case.

"Are there any strange experiments taking place with our people or in our facilities?" he demanded, his voice rising.

Bandanor threw him the most innocent look ever conceivable. "Why, Wing Commander, why would we be doing anything without the support and knowledge of our people?"

Omar shrugged indecisively. It had occurred to him that Bandanor usually declassified all experimental information before actually messing with people, but that wasn't always the case, he assured himself.

"Sir, if there is _anything_ happening to our people, they deserve to know. Maybe it is just post-battle tension with the latter two, but definitely not with Reaper Twenty. I saw it with my own eyes: he was destroying harmless structures and disobeying all of my orders. It wasn't forcible either. It seemed as if he wanted to comply but he was _restricted_ to do so, in some way or another. I have one pilot dead and two on life support systems in med bay, just because their minds have been messed with by _somebody_."

"Reaper Twenty, a lieutenant, was killed by your own hand. You said that yourself."

Mek Omar clenched his fist with anger. Bandanor had been known to do this sort of stuff before, but it was also rumored that the rebels took these sorts of drastic actions. "He was killed by me, yes. But he wasn't killed because of me."

"Maybe it was an act of terrorism committed by the rebellion?"

If _that_ was an act of terrorism, what was their action against Gaffeo 2? It was just as much terrorism on their part, if not more. "Yes Admiral, I'm sure that's what happened."'

Bandanor picked up on the slight trace of sarcasm, as indicated by his narrow eyes. He dismissed it, and went back to the matter at hand. "Since you seem to be disturbed by this, whenever another case develops, notify me ASAP."

Mek Omar stood to leave, but remained where he was. He then said, "Sir, whoever did such a thing will pay, no matter who it is. I swear it on my life, commission, and honor that I will get to the bottom of this and bring the heads back to you."

Bandanor flinched, but hinted no emotions to him. "Do as you please, Commander, just don't do anything on false pretenses. If you do, your in deep shit."

"Ma'am, Commander Erato is holding on line three. Shall I patch him through?"

Captain Azia, loyal officer of the Imperial Navy, rose halfway from her bunk, covering her upper body with a sheet. She stared at the 1-by-2-meter viewscreen on her wall while attempting to wake up.

A young ensign's face filled the majority of the screen, with a section of the bridge in the background. His eyes were on her, but not on her face, his expression wavering. He shook his head and brought his eyes up to her head and kept his gaze there.

Azia dropped the sheets and slid out of bed, making no move to conceal herself. She moved to the closet, where she pulled on her underwear.

The ensign still stood there, waiting patiently. "Should I patch him through? He seems to have a very important message."

Azia nodded slowly. "Put him through. I need an explanation for the _Exodus_'s disappearance."

The screen went blank for a moment. Azia put her hands on her waist and waited for Erato to appear. He did, a few seconds later.

The tall commander's face materialized and his eyes were drawn to her. All of her. He cut it out immediately, smiling with embarrassment as he met her gaze. He was sitting in an office of some sort, not aboard the _Exodus_; it seemed to be a groundside building he was in and there was a large man sitting behind him, keeping his gaze locked on her torso.

Erato whistled flashily. "I bought that for you, and you only where it when I'm not around? However, I'm very impressed that you decided to put it on while talking to me."

"It was the nearest clothing, and I didn't want to scare your friend in the background by wearing nothing. Where have you been? You promised you'd be here over a week ago."

"I bet you were very disappointed when I didn't show up. You probably had the candles already lit and the champagne ordered."

She smiled weakly, shaking her head vigorously. "Don't flatter yourself, flyboy. Now how about an explanation, or do I have to pull rank?"

Erato grew a slight frown on his face. He told Azia about the week's happenings, and explained his situation. He regretfully announced that Captain Vopos didn't survive and that they were in the New Republic's custody. He told her about the probe, as much as he knew, and requested orders.

She took a seat at her table in the chair across from the viewscreen. She laid her hands on the table and brought herself as close to the tabletop as possible. The person in the background was staring at something near the tabletop with delight. She ignored him and returned her attention to Erato.

"Commander, this is a very risky situation. I would like the probe, but if I can't get it, the New Republic should. I want you to make sure that this probe gets to Unngrae, by any means necessary. Help the rebels and make sure Bandanor doesn't get his hands on it. That goes for any other warlords, too. Try to negotiate with the UDF and get them to share the information with us."

Erato glanced back at the other person, who nodded. "We'll do our best, Captain. May you perhaps meet us at Unngrae? The warlords have a sizeable task force after us and we're going to need all the help we can get."

Azia sat up in the chair, slightly awake now. She stroked her long, blond hair, as she always did to consider tactics. Hesitantly, she said, "Very well, Commander. But first I would like to know who that sick puppy behind you is? He's been ogling me the whole time."

"That's only because you're so beautiful. Well, and because you're in you risqué panties." He waved the large guy over to the screen. The magnification decreased, allowing both to be seen onscreen. "This is Colonel Welf Pikins, commandant of Barnootsna Academy. He insisted on being here, saying that I could only contact you if he were here, too. Security precautions, and that kind of stuff."

"I assume New Republic reinforcements have been called in, Colonel Pikins?"

Pikins cleared his throat before speaking. "We have sent an emergency distress call to the Mid Rim, but no one seems to be paying much attention to us. Agamar answered our call and notified us that a Corellian Corvette could be here in a day. As if that would be enough to stop a frigate/carrier and a star destroyer."

Azia twitched with understanding. Of course not, the New Republic couldn't send anything to help. _They have their own agendas_, she thought, _their own schedules, and their own priorities_. It looked as if _Executioner_ was the only ship within range that could help in the least bit.

"I'm sure Unngrae can hold its own for a while," she commented, "but if Warlord Fiell's in the sector and the _Vigilante_ is lurking, Fiell's and Bandanor's fleets can't be too far behind them."

"Nonsense!" protested Pikins. "Why would the warlords have any use to be in this sector? There's nothing here!"

Azia knew that there _was _something here, and that Pikins was blinded by his commandant duties to realize the importance of the Unngrae Sector. She wasn't eager to fill him in on it, so she said nothing. Maybe if the warlords left, she could take the prize for herself . . .

"Yes, you're absolutely correct. The thing is: maybe the warlords don't realize it yet. At least it's distracting them from our region and your populated Rim worlds. We can be thankful for that."

A door on their end opened, and two men walked inside. A lieutenant colonel and a commander, by their insignias. She found herself eyeing them both, with a smile creeping up her face. They slackened from attention, and glanced her way. She winked at them both, watching their faces turn blood red.

Welf Pikins grunted, irritated by the whole situation. "We can be thankful that they're not mass murdering the Rim populace, but I'm not thankful for them attacking _us_! I have a daughter here; she's twenty and the prettiest thing you've ever seen. Do you know how many broken hearts there would be if anything happened to her?"

The commander grinned at Pikins's rhetorical question, obviously amused by it. The lieutenant colonel seemed unaffected by it, preoccupied with her.

They both fit the bill, and she found herself forgetting about Erato, even though he was right there.

"I'm sure there would be dozens."

"Dozens?" demanded Pikins. "Hell, there would be hundreds of cadets driven to either suicide or vengeance over her. You'd know what I mean of you're a guy and had seen her. I think all three of these pilots here have been visited by Jetti in their dreams."

The commander could hardly control himself. He had to grab his stomach to fight back the oncoming laughs.

"Yes, I'm sure of it. She got it from her father's side, didn't she?"

Pikins straightened up with almost-forgotten pride. "Well, I hate to brag, but I _am_ downright sexy, huh?"

She almost threw up after the thought that echoed through her mind. She jerked her head away and covered her eyes, gasping for breath. "Whatever you say, colonel."

"Well, I won't keep you," Pikins stated. "Hurry and get here, captain."

"I will," she promised. Pikins left the viewscreen, hauling the other two New Republic officers into a connected room. Azia and Erato said their good-byes and they ended the transmission.

Azia shut off her viewscreen and made her way over to her small closet. She pulled on her captain's uniform, made sure her jacket was zipped up at least three-quarters of the way and exited her quarters.

She walked to the turbolift slowly. She was in no hurry to get there and tell the crew that they were going to Unngrae, but she had to do it sometime. She got inside the turbolift, pressing the up button. With her were two noncommissioned officers and one Trandoshan technician.

The two humans behind her had their eyes fixed on the seat of her very tight pants, while the exotic was staring ahead, at the door.

She had nothing personal against the Trandoshan species, although there were some aliens that she despised. Wookiees, for one. She hated their stench and their bigness, their shaggy hair and their strange cries, and especially their ruthlessness toward others.

Trandoshans were a common sight aboard Imperial ships, anymore. New recruits were channeled into fighting and flying, due to the shortage of good warriors. There were seldom any human technicians found lurking her star destroyer—those that they had were ordered to stay at their stations, in case something drastic suddenly happened. The aliens were almost the only technicians seen by most officers aboard the ship—and aliens were only permitted as technicians. Trandoshans were easy to recruit, especially the outlaws found at pretty much every bar from here to Chandrila. The Empire was able to overlook their past if they would spend their future in the service, and many jumped at the chance.

As for the NCO duo behind her, she paid little attention. She was used to this sort of stuff, and making a scene about wouldn't help anything. They probably thought they were being subtle enough for her not to notice, but, obviously, she _did_ notice it.

The turbolift doors opened and she stepped out. Just to mess with the duo, she shook her hips as she walked along. The two moved slowly behind her, but were stopped by the turbolift door's premature closure. They grunted with anger, scolding the Tech about the doors.

She smiled with satisfaction as she rounded the corner, and slipped a small device into her pocket.

She was on the bridge a few minutes later, standing with her hands clasped behind her back at the forward viewport. In the left 'pit,' there were three ensigns chatting, laughing, as the ensign from the viewscreen spoke.

She had no doubt that it was about her presence in her quarters.

A lieutenant, her first officer, appeared beside her a few seconds later, sporting a giant grin on his clean-shaven face.

"Captain Azia, good afternoon!"

She glanced at the time. "But its only 0730 hours. What do you mean, by that?"

He pointed at the world out the viewport. "It's 1430 hours, Kranitia time, captain."

She killed her smile, forcibly. Lieutenant Arparki was by far her favorite aboard the ship. He was perhaps her sole friend aboard—and, consequently, the only man on the ship who hadn't made it his business to get in her pants. Arparki had just got back from his four-day excursion to Kranitia Prime.

Kranitia Prime, located at the very tip of the Imperial Regions, was a gigantic, prosperous world that received three million ships each day. The planet was always backed up to its moons with incoming traffic. The spaceports stayed open twenty four-seven, allowing the traffic to get in under cover and not wait in space overnight.

The primary reason for the backed-up lanes was that in six weeks, the planet's prime minister would be turning over his title to Felyn Dakhli, if all went as planned. Kranitia was the only system within the Region that hadn't joined the Empire. The prior prime minister had resisted the Empire for as long as he could, which led to his loss of support. His son-in-law, Dakhli, was supposed to join the Empire as soon as he was in office.

The Empire had pressured Kranitia to join for years, and the populace of the Region was very relieved to hear of their neighbor's Imperial acceptance. More than half of the Region's civilian population would be attending the inauguration ceremony and the four-day feast that would follow. A more specific reason for the backed-up traffic lanes was that Dakhli was a hero.

Felyn Dakhli, years ago during the rise of the rebellion, had saved the lives of thousands of Imperial citizens. At that time, the Outer Rim Territories were almost completely under Imperial rule. Aggressors, identified as rebels—not part of the Rebel Alliance, however—grew angry with the Empire and formed a faction. That faction stole three Corellian Corvettes from an Imperial shipyard and subjugated a world from low-orbit.

The populace was in shock, and no one was brave enough to do anything about. Then the three ships arrived at the 'capital planet' (unofficially, of course) of the Empire. They fired upon the capital city and everyone fled to shelter.

Everyone, that was, except for Major Dakhli and his battalion of stormtroopers. They organized a mob that made the corvettes retreat, just before they destroyed the city. Dakhli and his boys were heroes, and they were famous. Every mildly-informed citizen of the Rim knew of him as a hero—except for the Empire. He had disobeyed a direct order to evacuate, and was honorably discharged from the service, where he migrated to Kranitia. There, he married the prime minister's daughter.

He brought a large portion of the Region's citizens, but nearly two million of the daily arrivals were sent home. They didn't have enough room for everyone. The planetary population was small and there was a lot of unused land, so the newcomers parked in the expansive fields and slept in their ships, only resurfacing for the occasional party or to get more supplies.

Another half-million were only day commuters, and left as soon as their cargo was unloaded. This left a half-million people arriving each day just to see Dakhli get sworn into office—and for the food, of course.

An estimated eighty million people were going to join the planet's twenty million at the capital city in six weeks.

The world began opening thousands of temporary shops, lodges, and common areas to accommodate the gigantic crowd. These structures were built outside of town, having no more room inside the city gates. The day that Dakhli became the prime minister, the gates would be opened and everyone would fill the city streets. Only a small percentage of people would actually see Dakhli, perched in a palace balcony, but just being within a kilometer of the man made most people content.

The event was also a good time for trader's to set up their shops near their ship. Legality was always overlooked at these sort of things, so it was a good place to set up a black market or buy illicit items.

"So," Azia began, "how was your groundside trip?"

Arparki smiled enthusiastically. "It was wonderful. We got some good deals down there, and the recreational activities are wonderful. You should really try it."

"How was the lodging?"

"Horrible," he sat flatly. "We stayed in the shuttle. Those lodges aren't exactly the best places to go."

"I've heard that. I trust that all-in-all, it was worth it?"

"Oh, yes. It was most definitely worth it. Shall I arrange a shuttle for you?"

She grimaced. She really needed a vacation badly. "No, we have a new assignment."

"Really? Has High Admiral Pellaeon finally decided that we're worth more than escort duty for a highly defended world?"

"These orders don't come from Pellaeon."

Arparki slumped his shoulders. "I take it that we know what happened to _Exodus_."

"Yes."

The lieutenant left her side, moving over to the navigation computer. "Course?"

Azia shivered unnoticeably. "Unngrae, in the system of its own name."

Arparki raised an eyebrow as he typed in the coordinates. He set the hyperdrive engines to activate in two minutes and returned to Azia's side.

"May I ask why we are going to Unngrae? Without Admiral Pellaeon's permission, captain?"

She nodded hesitantly. "We've just entered an unofficial alliance with the New Republic forces there. The only problem is: we're the only two who know about it."

**CHAPTER NINE**

The transmission cut off abruptly, and Rin Dinjin turned his gaze from the screen to Pikins. The commandant of the Academy sat down at his desk, the other two across from him on the opposite side, as indicated by his hand motion.

Pikins just stared at them for a moment, mourning the losses of the surprise attack. "Lieutenant Colonel Rin Dinjin, I'm pleased to finally meet you. How long ago did you arrive?"

Dinjin made himself comfortable, preparing for a long and in-depth explanation and scolding. "Midway through the battle, I got lost on my way here and Commander Soner and Flight Officer Vrinslath offered to escort me the rest of the way."

"Well, I've been waiting for you."

On the trip over, Soner had spoken of Pikins's arrival at the third hangar, so Dinjin didn't imagine that he had gotten here much before Dinjin himself. But that was another _trivial_ matter that had nothing to do with anything, besides letting Dinjin understand that Pikins was a jerk.

Dinjin gave perfect answers, or at least the best answers he could provide, to all of Welf Pikins's questions. Pikins was very uneasy about the Empire helping them out, and he made no effort to conceal his anger. "Commander Erato is unstable. He's an Imperial officer who's gone _mad_ and is trying to lure us into a trap of some sort. When he called Captain Azia, who by no means _acts_ like a captain should, I could tell there's something going on between them. Of course, it became obvious later. . . . Anyway, an alliance, how ever temporary, with the Empire could lead to treason and Republic withdrawal."

"Yes," agreed Commander Soner, seated next to Rin. "It could. That is why I strongly suggest that you reconsider."

Pikins sighed heavily. "I hate it, but I think that we have no choice in the matter."

"Yes, we _do_." Soner grinned, scooting closer to the colonels, making a rough triangle. "We can call in reinforcements from Coruscant. They can't turn us down after the strike by that frigate/carrier. You must know how badly Admiral Ackbar wants to get his hands on one of those things, to examine it, and find out how to make it."

"I've heard that New Republic engineers are planning to construct a ship of similar design, but that's unrelated with this matter. The fact remains: Coruscant, Agamar, and all the planets in between have turned down our request for additional ships."

Soner wrinkled his brows with utter confusion. Dinjin was not surprised by the reaction, for he too felt shocked. What in hell could cause the New Republic to abandon one of its sectors? Didn't they know the severity of the situation, and that by not helping them, the warlords would claim Unngrae and perhaps the entire sector in a few minor skirmishes?

Most likely so. "I hope you explained the situation."

"I did. Then they regrettably explained _their_'s."

"What was their situation, did they say?" asked Commander Soner, innocently.

Pikins gestured a hand to Soner, and Dinjin gave the commander his full attention. Cale looked around hopelessly, looking for a means of escape. Apparently, he found none, for he sighed hesitantly and opened his mouth to speak.

"I doubt that you know, but the Corellian Trade Summit was scheduled for this week, a few days ago. After it occurred, we lost contact with the _entire_ Corellian System. I was already here when I heard from my wing commander at Corulag that I shouldn't come back any time soon, in order to make sure everything was under control out here. Colonel Dinjin, in case you're suspicious, I'm here to analyze the effectiveness of Outer Rim training, to make sure training isn't lax where the New Republic can't always see. A message from a few days ago indicates that an interdiction field has been set up around the Corellian System. Already a task force from Bakura is moving in to investigate."

That really took Dinjin off-guard. He asked several questions about the situation, trying to piece together what he had heard. He was unsuccessful in the long run, although he did get some answers to a few of his question. After asking, he knew where Corulag was, that Chief of State Leia Organa Solo was caught in the Corellian System when it happened, and that Cale Soner was native of Corellia.

He wondered how the commander was taking the news of his home system being cut off from the rest of his home sector and galaxy. _He's probably not very happy about it. I wonder how he keeps it bottled up inside of him?_

Dinjin also questioned Soner's stability. If he _was_ very upset about the situation, he may not be able to contain himself for long. He didn't know the man, but somehow he couldn't see the commander cracking during a serious situation like the one they were in, but he couldn't make any reasonable judgments about Soner yet.

Pikins said, "As you can see, we are not getting any reinforcements anytime soon."

"Not any at all?" asked Soner. "The Corellian problem is very grave, but it doesn't take every ship in the galaxy to see what's up with Corellia."

"We will have to discuss that later," the colonel said, nodding apologetically to Rin Dinjin. "However, a single Corellian Corvette, _Keepsake_, will be arriving at Gaffeo 2 in less than a week. I told Captain Azia that the Corvette would be here tomorrow, but it won't—I lied to make sure she took a little longer to get here, that way we should be on Unngrae by the time she arrives and have that probe decoded. Our next operation is to find a way to_ get_ that probe to Unngrae."

Mentioning the probe was a big surprise to Dinjin, for he thought that Pikins would not believe anything on the word of a deceased captain and a few guards with second-hand information. "I take it then, sir, that you have accepted that the warlords are after the probe?"

"Yes, I'll grant you that: the warlords _do_ want the probe, but I think that another attack in unlikely. The warlords don't want anything with this sector. They're merely using the probe as a diversion to a full strike against the New Republic."

Dinjin couldn't exactly see where this was going, but he was very interested. "Please explain, colonel."

Soner's hand twitched impulsively. "I think I can explain that, but it's a stupid idea and would never work. This is just speculation, as I'm sure Pikins's speech was going to be too. The warlords send off a probe into our hands, attempt to recapture it, and lure the defenses away from Unngrae to here. Then they _may_ launch an attack against Unngrae, so they can trick us into believing it was a trick from the first place. Then they withdraw from the sector, sneak around the Empire, and smash worlds like Agamar and Ithor."

Pikins crossed his arms with delight. "I _was_ thinking of that."

Soner had been sporting a big grin but then he killed it. "That's the most preposterous thing I've ever heard! I truly hope that you're joking. That story has more holes in it than a star destroyer after the Battle of Endor."

"Yes, well _you_ said it first."

Dinjin snorted. "To prove a point, sir, I think. It's more likely that the warlords are planning to take the sector. They draw forces from Unngrae, so they can claim it for themselves. There's virtually nothing here, save for the repair/construction facilities at Unngrae, but its close enough to launch an attack on the Empire."

Cale shook his head and dropped his arms on Pikins's desk. "Then the Empire could strike back. Surely they could defeat Bandanor. After all, Unngrae _is_ the closest system to the Imperial remnant."

"Okay, then," Rin began, "they're part of the strange Corellian matter. They have allies in the Corellian Sector and _one_ of them is creating a diversion for the other. The New Republic has always had bad luck while fighting on two fronts at the same time."

Soner seemed to consider that for a long minute. He said, "No, I don't think so. The warlords are causing that much of a diversion for Corellia. Now, Corellia may be causing a diversion for the warlords, but it's highly unlikely."

"Why's that?" wondered Pikins. "I'm no expert, but I thought a lot of Corellian humans still supported the Empire."

"They _do_ support the _Empire_. Why does everyone get the Empire and the warlords confused with each other? The Empire was a cruel, dominator back in the day, but that was under Palpatine and his minion's rule. The Imperial Remnant is just trying to survive, while the warlords are trying to claim the galaxy for themselves. When was the last time the Empire led an offensive against the New Republic?"

He did have a point, Dinjin admitted to himself. He doubted that Colonel Welf Pikins would ever see that point, though.

He was surprised by what Pikins said next. "All right, I give up and I'm sorry for confusing them with each other. You were right about one thing: a lot of Corellians still _do _have allegiance to the Empire."

Soner didn't answer that question. Dinjin wouldn't have either, for he knew that Pikins was invading his privacy. When Soner never replied, it seemed to Dinjin that he knew very little about the man.

The part that he did know, he sort of liked.

Pikins eyed Soner for a moment, waiting for a reaction. When he got nothing, he faced Rin Dinjin. "Lieutenant Colonel, I know it's a little out of your area of expertise, but as soon as we're finished I'd like you to take charge of the salvage teams. My previous executive officer was killed during the attack."

"Yes, sir."

Cale lowered his head slightly. "And what would you have me do?"

Pikins said, "Well, I have a very important assignment for you, commander. By the way, I hope there are no hard feelings about what I said a minute ago."

Soner accepted his apology and added, "What _is_ my assignment, sir?"

It was about three hours later, in the city, that Rin Dinjin stumbled across the Gaffeo Banking, Inc. building near the control tower. The control tower was missing the control room which was previously sitting on top of the tower, and much of the two floors below had been destroyed. In the bank entrance, three of the technicians he had been assigned pulled out cutting torches, in order to make it through the ceilings of the other floors.

It took them nearly an hour to cut through to the top, where they climbed up and onto the ceiling. The ground was very rough and rocks and such protruded from the wreckage. As Dinjin looked up, he could see the sky, for the roof was now _underneath_ him.

A single Y-wing fighter, in very good condition and without the majority of its hull plates removed, flew overhead, leaving a stream of clouds behind it. He recognized the ship as a modified long-range Y-wing, most likely with seats of two, but he wasn't sure from there. It being long-range ruled out any possibility of a remaining Y-wing from the battle, and there were no outposts in the area, so that meant that it had to be from Unngrae. Yes, he was sure an Unngrae official would come to examine the damage, assess the casualties, and do anything else that might be important to Unngrae but not mean a thing for Gaffeo 2.

The team of four split up, wearing hard hats inside, of course, into the different areas of the bank. Dinjin took the turbolift, which was unsurprisingly nonfunctional, while his three technicians checked other areas of the building. They had hoped to find survivors but it seemed as if everyone had evacuated. Only four bodies were found in the building, but that didn't mean too much considering all the places a body could be hid.

With no access to the upper floors, they were restricted to searching only the ground-floor. A small transport flew in through the ceiling, carrying a foursome of special forces on ropes to search the upper floors. Later, Dinjin had discovered that all of the floors had been smashed down so tight that it looked like the building was only three stories tall.

No other bodies were found, which was not surprising. Dinjin and his group cleared out of the bank and went through a search of the control tower.

Dinjin ordered the trio to check out the ground-floor while he ventured upward on the steps. The second through five floors were clear; there was nothing of interest and no bodies. On the sixth floor, Dinjin found a control man in the coffee room, dead. The man had poured his coffee just before the attack occurred because the coffee tub was still in his hands, with its contents all over the floor. His mug was still on the table, filled and undisturbed.

He carried the man down and out, placing his body atop the other eight already laying in the back of a hover truck. He made it back up to the seventh floor without seeing any of the other three technicians.

The seventh floor was the top of the building, now. The ceiling was removed and only one wall of the eighth floor remained, though badly damaged. He surveyed the area, finding two more men, who had tripped on the stairs while fleeing the building.

He managed to drag them both to the truck in one trip.

Before he could reenter the control tower, a hand was placed on top of his shoulder, spinning him around. He stared at the two men in front of him for a long moment, before turning back around and stepping into the building.

He stopped, allowing the two to catch up to him. He instantly recognized one of them as Lieutenant Colonel Sen Yughey, the officer in charge of the other six squadrons on Unngrae.

"Colonel Yughey, I see Unngrae has taken an interest in the matter."

Yughey, ten years senior and a bit more gruff, exhaled deeply. "Half the sector's heard, and you think Unngrae has taken an interest in the matter? You sure like to understate things, Dinjin."

"Well, I've only seen a Y-wing arrive, so far."

"I came as soon as the attack started. The Y-wing has a .5 hyperdrive rating on it; that's how I got here so quickly. I thought you may need a hand, and it looks like you got hit hard. Why were you so careless? You should have approached _without_ the bloody Imps tracking you."

"They weren't Imperials," he said plainly. "And I don't see how they could have tracked us. At the civilian refueller station above Duhnoe, we jumped directly toward Unngrae and changed course for Gaffeo after emerging from hyperspace."

They still could have tracked them down at the nearest base, by bribing the Duhnoens or even getting them to talk with brute force, he knew. Somehow he doubted the Duhnoens would turn him over, even though they weren't on the best terms with the New Republic, or rather the Unngrae Defense Fleet.

One of his technicians called for him, still on the first floor of the control tower. Dinjin went toward the source with Yughey and a flight officer in tow. The source was in a maintenance closet near the back of the room, where the technicians were stomping their boots all over the floor, sporting uneasy face expressions.

He wondered what they were doing.

"The floor's hollow, sir."

If there was something below them, it was concealed by parts of the walls and ceiling that had fallen to the ground.

"It's very subtle, but you'll find that it's definitely hollow if you stomp enough."

Sen Yughey raised his muscular foot and smashed down hard against the closet floor. Dinjin immediately became aware of the hollow floor as he heard the foot slam down. He got to his knees, put his head to the ground, and listened for anything coming from below. He heard a distinctive voice, followed by another.

"I hear voices under the ground."

Yughey grimaced. "There must be people down there."

Dinjin rolled his eyes and said, "You really think so?"

"It's a bomb shelter or something," commented the flight officer, serving as Yughey's aide/copilot.

"I'm glad you both have some opinions." Dinjin glanced at one of the techs from his knees. "Get your cutters and will try to burn our way in."

The trio of small, scrawny humans exchanged looks and headed off together, presumably to their hover truck.

"Stand back," Yughey ordered, reaching down to the debris. He grabbed a big chunk of duracrete and vainly attempted to lift it. After several unsuccessful attempts, he ceased and wiped the sweat from his head. "I think we should stick to the cutting torches."

When the techs returned, the others cleared out so they could do their work. It took another twenty minutes to break up the debris enough for Yughey to lift up, then the man flung the debris effortlessly out of the closet.

It looked like any normal maintenance closet would. It had tools and spare parts—which had been flung around the room during the bombardment—and to access hatches: one above and one below. The one leading to the next floor's closet was wide open, with hints of forced entry on the hatchway. The lower, which took up a square meter of the room, was sealed shut, with no hints of any entry at all.

Dinjin and the three techs managed to pull away the access hatch with relative ease, although what they saw before them was not anything like Dinjin had expected. The entire space was filled with wires, only a fifty-centimeter opening remained in the middle of the wiring. A small access ladder was placed across from Rin, allowing anyone to climb below the amass of wiring.

"What's down there?"

One of the techs answered Yughey's question. "That's an access tunnel with bomb resistance. That's probably why whoever's down there chose to be."

"Access tunnels to what?" demanded the flight officer, speaking in Yughey's stead.

"All New Republic buildings on Gaffeo 2 are interconnected by underground tunnels, for security reasons."

Dinjin stared down at the dark place. "Anyone down there?" he yelled at the top of his lungs.

"Help!" called an alarmed voice from below.

"Give me a glow rod."

The techs stared at each other, while checking their pockets. They shook their heads at each other, then at Dinjin. Yughey, however, reached into the flight officer's small field kit and pulled out a glow rod. He handed it to Dinjin, and waved him on his way. "You better get to it."

Dinjin cast a grin at those above him as he wiggled into the hatch, clasping to the bars of the ladder. He climbed down as fast as he could, stopping at what he figured to be the midpoint to activate his glow rod. The room, or whatever it was, rapidly illuminated as light arched out from the rod, giving him a clear impression of his surroundings.

He wasn't quite at the midpoint yet, which explained why whoever was down there didn't hear him open the hatch and speak with the technicians. He climbed down the rest of the way, looking around as he reached the bottom and disconnected himself with the ladder.

Two beings, one a young human and the other a Duhnoen, laid against the dark, dingy corridors' west wall. The whole tunnel was shaped like a hexagon, so the two weren't sitting with their backs straight up for the whole time.

As he neared them, he saw that the human was grabbing at his stomach, with blood seeping through the cracks in between his fingers. He was in bad shape and the Duhnoen in a much worse condition, having a thirty centimeter-long piece of shrapnel stuck in his right arm and a piece of glass into his skull.

Dinjin grimaced, feeling empathy for them. He ran back to the ladder and yelled to his technicians above: "I need a medpac, ASAP. We have two injured people down here and need medical assistance!"

"We're calling in the ambulance," was the only reply.

Dinjin caught the medpac that landed in his arms a few seconds later and ran back toward the injured people. The flight officer had slid down the ladder with swiftness, appearing beside Dinjin a second later. The junior officer grabbed the medpac, opened it, and pulled out some of its contents.

Rin was not a medic, so he left all the medical duties to the other pilot, who was also not a certified field medic, but could patch up wounds temporarily. Dinjin had to admit that the younger man had done a fine job keeping the injured alive until EMS teams relieved them. The two had to be strapped to a stretcher in order to drag them out of the tunnel, and that was no easy feat.

Dinjin and the flight officer remained behind, making sure that the stretcher didn't fall, until the medics and patients were clear of the closet. Then the two pilots climbed out.

Dinjin wondered about the tunnels, about how long they were, how they were built, and so on, but he couldn't come up with any reasonable answers. He made a mental note to ask Pikins about the tunnels, or maybe one of the techs assigned to him.

Dinjin climbed out first, with the help of Yughey, the flight officer right behind him.

They left the building, declaring it 'clear' and followed the ambulance to the Gaffeo system's sole hospital. The techs drove off for the morgue after dropping the other three off, anxious to get the corpses out of their truck. Yughey and Dinjin had to pull rank on an ensign in order to be allowed clearance to the patient's rooms, but in a few minutes they were up on the third floor with the duo from the tunnel.

After ten minutes of frantic doctors and nurses scurrying in and out of the room, a nurse came out to the trio sitting in chairs across from the room. She was drenched in blood. It was not human blood, but Duhnoen. She sadly claimed that the Duhnoen they had rescued perished but the human would be all right in a few days' time.

After the nurse had left, and the trio had wound down a little, the flight officer scooted over to Dinjin. "Sir, if I may introduce myself. I'm Flight Officer Gapher Raidac, Yellow wing."

"Pleased to meet you." They shook hands. "I'm Lieutenant Colonel Rin Dinjin, which I think you were informed of."

Gapher Raidac merely nodded, turning his attention back to the room where the doctors worked frantically to keep the human alive.

"So, Yughey, what brings you to Gaffeo 2?"

"Well, they wanted someone who knew you. They wanted someone to come and hear your story and find out whether it's true or not. I've been briefed thoroughly. _Is_ it true?"

"Of course! Why would I lie about something like that? Most of a flight of my flyers were eye witnesses to my claim."

"_Most_?" Yughey folded his arms and leaned heavily against the wall. "Is that including Arina Veyanol?"

"What do you know of her?"

Sen Yughey sighed and looked over at Raidac. "Well, I know she's MIA. That's enough for me to suspect captivity and brain-washing."

There was a long silence in between sentences. Dinjin had no more questions and really didn't want any answers, so he changed the subject. "Flight Officer Raidac, why are _you_ here?"

Gapher Raidac shrugged indecisively. "I'm a native, born and raised in Gaffton City. When I heard it was under attack and we were sending out a ship, I volunteered. I wanted to check on my brother, Flaephar Raidac, but there's little hope that I will see him in the near future."

"I see."

Dinjin remained silent for a long time, as did the others. No one felt like talking but Dinjin felt like eating something. His stomach growled, long overdue for some good food, but not in the mood for hospital food.

Finally, Rin broke the silence. "Is your brother in the service?"

"He is . . . or was . . . attending Barnootsna, a junior here."

"There's a small _victory_ celebration at a bar named Kankof's Den, tonight. I heard that from a reliable informant, and he says that even if you didn't fight, you can still attend. I don't think they'd mind if you showed up and you might find your brother there, if he's the social type."

**CHAPTER TEN**

The night at Kankof's Den was a bit unusual. Commander Soner had gotten so drunk, he was murmuring about some crazy battle against pigs in TIE Interceptors over Hog World. Jicks Yughey was quite engaged in the story his mouth hanging open with awe. Ditch, Dae, and Ramel had limited themselves to three hard drinks, after seeing Soner's fate. The trio of juniors needed to be sober, for a ship was arriving that night and they wanted to see who was aboard (it was rumored that several students who had already left before the battle were coming back to see what they could do to help).

Despite the heavy casualties on their part, the trainees managed to bring out the best in each other. Everyone was having a good time, save the two unfamiliar pilots in the back of the Den, clad in Y-wing pilots' suits and newcomers from Unngrae.

" . . . and that was how we retook Coruscant from the Hog Empire."

Jicks studied Soner with wide-eyed anticipation. "Wow, that was one freaky ass story, Commander Soner. What the _hell's_ this galaxy coming to? What kind of government would allow a bunch of _damn_ pigs to take over Coruscant." He shook his head briefly. "Wait just one damn moment! I thought you said you were at Hog World? How in _hell_ did you get to Coruscant in two seconds' time?"

"Well, I can explain that."

Yughey grinned broadly. "Yeah, have a few more drinks and you can tell me all about."

"Amen to that, Jicks!"

Before he could react, Ditch, Dae, and Ramel had Jicks Yughey in the air, lifting him above their heads. They let out a few cries and ran around the bar, with other trainees throwing beer at the youngest junior at the Academy.

The three juniors pranced around the room lively, until they tripped over someone's shoe, in haste to get back to the bar. They fell over, landing with a hard smack, and Yughey flying through the air. Jicks was hurled at a booth in the back of the room, landing on a table and smashing it into three separate pieces. The two Y-wing pilots moved their feet out of the way, but the elder was hit in the shin by Jicks's foot.

Ditch made it up first, charging over to the booth. Dae and Ramel, still battered and bruised from the night before, slowly climbed up with the help of two female cadets, and all four of them fell into a booth, laughing.

Ditch made it over to Jicks in a few seconds, but it seemed much longer to him. The elder Y-wing pilot, wearing a lieutenant colonel's rank emblem and a UDF insignia, reached down to pat his sore leg, making Ditch slightly nervous. Pikins would be so happy to hear . . .

Jicks opened his eyes, looked up, and grinned at Ditch. His smile faded as he looked at the other two faces above him, sitting on either side of the table. With near-limp legs, he wobbled to his feet with the help of Ditch's hand.

"Uncle Sen!"

"Jicks, what the hell happened to you?"

"I hit a table."

"Are you going to introduce me to your friend?" Sen inquired. Jicks introduced them to each other—he introduced Ditch as just Ditch, not Ditch Necco—and they shook hands. "I'd ask you how you've been, but I think I'll spare myself from the embarrassment and unwanted knowledge. Just tell me your not a father."

Ditch's eyes widened, glancing over at Jicks with surprise. "I should think he's not. He's my roommate and he sleeps there _every_ night. Alone."

Sen Yughey nodded. "Well, then you and I must take a walk and discuss Jicks's behavior behind his back sometime. I'm interested in knowing a little about him and I'm sure I won't get a straight answer from him."

"You might get one, but as you said: you wouldn't want one."

"Don't worry, Uncle Sen. I've followed your guide lines for the three 'S' words: no Shagging, stay Sober, and Stay off the glitterstim and all the other narcotics."

"Thank the Almighty."

It seemed to Ditch that Sen Yughey belonged to some religious group or cult, but he wasn't about to ask.

The elder Yughey pointed at the man across from him, a flight officer. "This is Gapher Raidac, native of Gaffeo 2. We're here looking for his brother, Flaephar Raidac."

Ditch and Jicks exchanged knowing glances, but remained innocent to the two in the booth. "Nope, I haven't heard from him in over a year."

If he had told him _why_ no one had heard of him in over a year, Gapher might be appalled and dismayed. The previous year, Dae Bootra had organized a mob to roll the Pikins's household on the hill. Wearing masks of ancient aliens from childhood fairytales, the crew of eighteen people embarked on the journey that would lead them through a treacherous adventure.

Flaephar had been part of the mob, drinking as much as he could before setting out. They began rolling the house and Pikins stormed out with a blaster rifle a few minutes later. Those who were sober enough to run, did. The three that remained, including Flaephar, never returned to them.

Despite the controversial rumors that Pikins had them tied up in the basement, used as gigolo's for Jetti, Ditch simply believed that they were kicked out of Barnootsna with no explanation to the other cadets.

If his theory was correct, he couldn't understand why the Raidacs hadn't been notified of Flaephar's withdrawal from the academy.

Jicks added, "Me neither."

Sen twitched his mustache. "I see. Well, thank you for being honest with us. Seeing as how you're Jicks's friend, I will by you a drink, Ditch."

"Thank you, colonel."

The four abandoned the wrecked booth and made their way to the bar, while a cleanup crew grumbled as they picked up the mess.

The introduction to Cale Soner, also made by Jicks Yughey, put the commander into the state of confusion. "Cadet Yughey, I was just starting to recognize your name. Now they're _two_ Yugheys. It's going to take a while for me to figure this one out."

Then Soner fell off the barstool, whacking into the ground, and falling asleep instantaneously. Ditch rolled his eyes and swivelled in the chair to see Seria Henarsi and Carmen Vrinslath, who happened to be Soner's new girlfriend, walk over to them.

"Poor guy," Carmen said, kneeling next to Soner. "Seria, will you help me get him out of here?"

Seria helped Carmen as she pulled Cale up and put his arm around her shoulders. Seria grabbed the other arm, cradled it, and they walked off to call a hover cab.

"I heard he's here to check up on the Outer Rim," commented Ditch. "But it looks as if the Core's the place that needs to be checked on."

The elder Yughey watched as Seria deposited the hard currency into the pay phone. "Why would they want to check up on the Outer Rim? The Core has never cared about us before. We could get vaped by a Death Star and no one from the Core would give a damn."

Seria hung up the phone after a brief talk with the man on the other line, before returning to Carmen's side and helping her with Soner. Carmen flung the double-doors open and the three strode out of the building, with the door swishing closed in their wake. Yughey glanced over at Jicks and propped his hand on his nephew's shoulder. "It has been too long. Why didn't you ever call? Do you realize that your parents are worried sick about you? That _I_ was worried? What has it been? Twelve months? Eighteen?"

Jicks ordered a glass of lum and sipped it once it was in his hands. He slowly put the glass down on the table and looked up at his uncle. "Twenty months, I think. It has been really busy around here, with all the training and all." He shook his head and drank some more from his glass. "That's the best excuse I can give you right now."

Ditch likewise ordered a drink, grabbing it just before he rose from the stool, having occupied it only briefly. "Well, I think I better get going. I'm sure the two of you have a lot of catching up to do and I don't want to bother you."

Colonel Yughey nodded affectionately. "Thank you, but it's quite unnecessary. I'd like to talk to Jicks alone, but that can wait. I still would like to find out who _you_ are, though."

Necco took a big gulp of his lum and eyed the man curiously. "Why do you want to know about me?"

"Well, mainly because your Jicks's roommate. And . . ."

"And what?"

Yughey shrugged indecisively and downed a glass of lomin-ale. "I hate beating around the bush, so I'm just going to say it. Since I know Jicks is straighter than most, I feel that it's my duty to make sure he hasn't fallen under the influence of . . . _gentler_ men. So I really would like to know—"

Jicks's mouth dropped and he slapped his uncle on the back. "Don't even go there. Trust me, he's more masculine than you."

Ditch, perplexed by the incident, raised his glass and poured a gigantic amount of lum into his mouth.

"Ditch, are you a faggot?"

Within two seconds, the lum that had been in Ditch's mouth was all over the bar and the Yugheys. He caught his breath and recovered momentarily. "Am I _what_?"

"A pansy? You know, are you flamboyant? Gay? Anything like that?" Sen Yughey tilted his head up and sent a shriek cutting through the vicinity as he relieved tension from his stiff neck.

Jicks laughed as he downed his own drink and slammed the glass against the table. "Don't worry, he's fine. Trust me, he's not trying to make me gay, because he _isn't_." He turned to his friend and offered an apologetic smile. "He asks everyone I know that. Sure, you _look_ like a fag, but that's not why he asked."

Ditch's mouth dropped in surprise. _Do I really look gay?_ He glanced over at Gapher Raidac, who was slowly backing away from him. Gapher finally rose, left his half-empty glass where it was, and said, "It's getting kind of weird in here, so I think I'll go look for my brother elsewhere. Oh, Ditch, about how many juniors are there here?"

"Not too many." He frowned, seeing the point belatedly. "I haven't seen your brother because I don't think he's still on Gaffeo 2. You may want to ask Commandant Pikins, but he never gave us a straight answer about his disappearance."

" 'Disappearance?' You make it seem as if he's some sort of ghost, long lost in an ion storm."

"Worse, lost in Pikins's basement," Jicks commented.

"Is Pikins gay? He did look a little strange when we met him." The colonel grimaced. "Anyway, Raidac asked about his brother, but he didn't get a straight answer. I think it's plausible that Pikins has him locked down there so he can do gay things to him. Do you concur or know something that I don't?"

Gapher's mouth dropped. "Good god! My little brother!"

Ditch took a step back and turned toward the door. Ramel and Dae, positioned in a booth withing sight, raised from their seats in anguish and strode toward the door. The looks on their faces suggested they had been turned down by the female cadets, and the giggling emerging from the females' table furthered his opinion of the matter.

"Don't worry, Pikins is straight, too," Jicks assured his uncle. "One time, just as a joke, we did an experiment to find out for sure and—"

"Jicks!" called Ditch. "It's okay for _me _to embarrass you in front of your family, but when you do it yourself, the whole gesture is wasted. Flight Officer Raidac, I'm going to the spaceport. I have some contacts there and maybe we can scrounge up some information on your brother's whereabouts."

"You'd do that for me?"

"Well, the ship that I'm waiting for won't be here for another hour and I don't feel like hanging around for this really messed-up family's reunion." He grabbed Gapher by the shoulder and escorted him toward the door. "So I guess I have sixty minutes to kill."

Rin Dinjin, showered and dressed in something more comfortable than his flightsuit, sat at what was considered Gaffeo 2's _'spaceport' _on a wooden-seated park bench for three. Glancing up at the day's schedule, he discovered that a small freighter was landing in the port's fifth and final slot in a few minutes. Three other slips were occupied by light transports, all of the same design, which was not surprising, considering the lack of starship producers in the nearby sectors. The fourth slip was soon to be occupied by a bit larger ship, its manifest stating it carried supplies and a few cadets from Gaffeo 2 who were off-world at the time of the assault.

He suspected that there was a spy amongst Barnootsna Academy. It seemed logical, for the Imps, _warlords_, couldn't possibly know that he was coming there. But the warlords had arrived before him, so even if a cadet was a spy, he couldn't have told the warlords in time to stage an assault. He tried to think back to the long trip to Gaffeo 2 without their hyperdrive. He didn't seem to remember any ships flying past him, but that didn't mean that no one was watching their every move without them realizing it. _Some pirates and mercenaries have those early-detection systems, maybe it was one of them_.

The pirates were definitely out, since they had as much to lose under warlord control as anyone else. The Merc clans and freelancers were the most likely possibilities, seeing as how they could be bought to do just about anything.

Dinjin looked up at the man peering down at him from two meters away. "Mind if I take a seat, colonel?"

"Not at all, Commander Erato."

The tall man took a seat, made himself comfortable, but remained quiet. For a few minutes, the two of them just sat there, lost in their own thoughts, without speaking. After a while, Erato broke the silence and cut off Dinjin's thoughts midway. "Lieutenant Colonel, do you think that there may be a spy here?"

He nodded solemnly. "Absolutely. You're an entry near the top of my list, with your group trailing right behind you. Why do you ask?"

"Well, I was going to present some possibilities. Since you obviously don't trust me, I guess I'm wasting my time here."

He stood up to leave, but Dinjin put a hand in front of him, denying the Imp departure. "Sit back down. I'd be very interested to hear your suspects, because all of my ideas have some minor technicalities in them, so who is near the top of _your_ list."

"I don't have a list, just an opinion about a few people." Erato sat down again, but hoisted himself up with his hands so he could leave faster next time. "I thought about Welf Pikins first. I know, I know, he _is_ the commandant of Barnootsna, so he probably wouldn't sell out his own people like that. We haven't even known the colonel for a day, but my impression is that he's just after money. I think he _might_ be on some of the warlords' payrolls, but this is purely speculation and I have no evidence whatsoever.

"Next up is Dimmenos Larkin—"

"Who?"

"Oh, a pilot of the newly-formed Sovereign Squadron. I heard, from third-hand information, that Lieutenant Larkin forced his way out of the lieutenant governor's mansion about ten minutes before the assault began. From second-hand information, I learned that he _knew _the strike was coming, but when questioned, he said: 'It was just a hunch.' "

"Very heavy stuff, Commander. I will consider these ideas, but since I can't trust you and you got your information from other people that I probably don't trust, I can't stake too much on this."

"I'm not finished yet." Erato waved an irritated hand. "Third, we have Dopkin Flarrisk, commander of Sovereign Squadron. He showed up without notice, according to commandant Pikins, and began recruiting cadets out of the blue. He seems, just by looking at him, that he's a weasel. I'm sure he's a stand-up guy and all, but he doesn't by any means meet Imperial Regulations in his attitude and posture. Of course, this isn't the Empire, but I hope we have _some _of the same regulations, otherwise this Republic is going to die out sooner than us.

"And finally, we have you."

Dinjin went stiff and a sudden chill stroked his spinal cord and he eyed Erato. In disbelief, he said, "Me?"

"You. I only considered the possibility recently. I know you hate the warlords, so I never even thought about you being a spy, but since you most likely hate the _Empire_ more, you bring the warlords into the sector and convince them that this is a good staging area to attack the Empire from. You're off Unngrae, because it's going to be next, and you may even have a great deal of credits from Bandanor or Fiell."

"But a dozen days ago, I didn't even realize that there _was_ a difference between the Empire and the warlords," Dinjin protested.

"I checked into your file and discovered that you were a petty con artist back in your early twenties. I think it's plausible that you're feigning innocence." He smiled. "Tell me, do you have any reason to want destroy the Empire, no matter the casualties on your side?"

Dinjin lowered his head and glowered. "Well . . . no, not really."

Commander Erato blew air from his mouth, in a gasping gesture. "What about Captain Azia and her fighters?"

Before Dinjin could answer, a bombastic noise erupted from overhead. The five docking slip came alive with a blinking red light emitted from transparisteel glow shafts in all four corners of the gated area. A single freighter, battered, bruised, and worn from enemy encounters, shot down from the sky like a bat out of hell and came to a gradual stop ten meters above the pad.

From its stationary position, the pilot powered down the repulsarlifts until the ship returned to its descent attitude. Ten seconds later, it was groundside and the devices began powering off until the abnormal humming from the engine stopped and the ship's controls were dead. Dinjin realized they were literally "dead" when the floodlights turned off prematurely and the expansive wings on either side of the plane ceased to retract inward halfway through the procedure. One of the eight large landing "legs" malfunctioned and disconnected from the hull of the craft, sending the freighter forward and to the right at a slight angle.

The hatch, located three meters off the ground, popped off and fell to the ground with a large banging sound. A ladder retracted from the bottom of the hatch but stopped at the two meter-mark. A single alien, reptilian and a bit shorter than Dinjin, extended his head from the darkness inside the ship—it seemed as if the internal lights had kicked, too—and disappeared a few moments later.

Then he emerged again, this time on his knees, facing the other side of the ship. He backed up cautiously and flung his legs outside. He scooted back, getting a good stance on the ladder, and positioned his hands on the bottom of the hatch. He tilted his head upward and climbed down the two meters the ladder reached, then jumped the rest of the way.

He caught his balance and turned on his heel to face Dinjin and Erato. He jogged over to the gate on the fence and grabbed the handle with his three digits and his green hand. He turned the knob and the door flew open. He came over to where the two sat and pulled them to their feet.

In a low, almost eerie voice, he said, "Come quickly! I have a passenger in need of medical attention."

Erato was up first, dragged by the Trandoshan onto the fenced-docking pad. Dinjin raised his comlink and signaled the spaceport medical division. He received no response and understood that all spaceport medics—and most other port staff—had been recalled to help with the Gaffton casualties.

He jumped from his seat and strode over to where the port security office lay on the other side of the spaceport. He knocked on the door audibly, then, when he received no answer, turned the handle and the door opened responsively. It surprised him that the door would be unlocked at this hour—he checked his chronometer: 2315 hours—but given the late night arrivals, the security may be needed.

Stepping inside, he saw a small desk straight in front of him. Sitting behind it, with his feet up on the desk and an open magazine collapsed on his large belly, was a sleeping security guard. Dinjin let the door remain open and skidded over to the desk. He yelled, "Hey, sergeant!"

The man opened his eyes and tilted back in his chair, reflexively. The chair toppled and the man hit the ground with a thud as legs followed off the desk after him. He glanced up at Rin. "What is it?"

"Some Trandoshan pilot claims he has a sick and/or injured passenger aboard his freighter. I tried to call the port medical office, but no one's there."

The man rolled off his chair and climbed to his feet with the help of a file cabinet next to him. He walked out from behind the desk, past Dinjin, and over to a set of metal drawers atop a shelf. He pulled out a key from his pocket, inserted it into the keyhole, and twisted his hand. The front of the drawer opened on its hinges and, with his other hand, the guard pulled a small medpac from it. He closed the drawer and dropped the key back into his coat pocket. "Take me to them."

Dinjin led the guard to the ship, where they scaled the ladder and submerged into the darkness. Commander Erato had pulled out a glow rod and was aiming it toward a couch near the front of the freighter.

Erato and the Trandoshan were kneeling by the couch, and retrieving a bandage from a small bag near the alien's feet. Beyond them, Dinjin made out the figure of sentient being in the same body proportions of a human. He moved closer and saw what she was wearing. An orange flight suit, covered with blood near the top and sprinkled with white and grey equipment, enveloped her. On her left shoulder, he made out the UDF emblem and below that the Grey Wing crest.

It was the Barabel, Arina Veyanol.

He dropped to his feet and examined her. She was not injured mortally and, if she was treated right away, wouldn't have to be in bacta treatments for more than a day. "Arina!"

She looked at him and scowled ferociously, in a friendly gesture that was a common sight in Barabels. "Colonel!"

He reached down and squeezed her hand, but she cast it aside and showed her teeth as she hissed impatiently. That was a good sign, at least she hadn't lost her spirit.

The security guard treated her with some of the bacta patches from his bag and she said, "Colonel, I feel very cold."

He grimaced, feeling empathy for her. She shivered in pain but kept most of it bottled up inside of her. He had to admit that she was very strong. He unzipped his grey jacket, pulled himself out of it, and placed it atop Arina. "Better?"

She narrowed her eyes. "If I could move my legs, I'd kick your ass."

The security guard slapped a final patch on her chest, and made sure that all four of them he'd applied were healing her. The other three—located on her left arm, neck, and right thigh—turned red instantaneously and blood seeped through them. The sergeant took the bandages that had to be stripped from her to apply the patches and placed them over the bacta containers. She bit down on her lower lip as the guard stuck a needle in her right arm that was a size that would make any grown man squeal in pain.

The guard brought up his comlink and ran some override codes to reach the security station in town. "Lieutenant, we need an ambulance at port pad five. Yes, sir. Barabel female, mid-twenties . . . _no_, I don't know _that_, sir. . . . What do you mean? She's a Barabel, how am I supposed to know that? Just send an ambulance, all right?" He looked at Dinjin, noticed his inquisitive expression, and shrugged. "You don't want to know. They _are_ sending an ambulance, nonetheless."

Ditch Necco arrived at the scene just as the ambulance was departing. He watched it shoot past him as he drove his junky landspeeder up the road to the spaceport. In front of him and to his left, Ramel's flashy hover car made its way up the hill with relative ease. His own vehicle more or less skidded its way up.

Next to him sat Gapher Raidac, who did not look at all pleased with the speeder. From their trip over, Gapher had explained to him that he wasn't used to such a junk mobile and preferred the type manufactured on Unngrae.

When they finally reached the top, a few seconds after Ramel and Dae hopped out of their car and were checking out the scene caused at pad five.

Ditch had to admit that the freighter there could be in better shape, an opinion that was also shared by the Trandoshan owner as he kicked a detached landing leg across the pad and hit the side of the craft with a clenched hand. A familiar face, that of Imperial Commander Erato, appeared in front of Ramel's speeder as he made his way in Ditch's direction. Ditch came to a slow stop behind the other speeder, lowered his three support legs and shut the engine down. He opened his door and stepped out of the car, followed by Gapher.

"You may want to check with the security guard. Give him a description and he can most likely run a scan on your brother."

Gapher nodded and silently moved away toward the security guard checking the locks on the first three pads.

Ramel and Dae, chatty as usual, sat down on a park bench in front of pad four and continued to talk about _something_. Ditch, as curious as ever, made his way inside the fifth slip's area and over to the freighter. The Trandoshan hit the hull one last time and a piece of it fell to the ground. He spun around to face Ditch. "Can I help you?" he asked in the usual angry voice that Trandoshans often used.

"I was just wondering what all of the commotion was about."

"I took a passenger aboard at the civilian refueling station orbiting Duhnoe and brought her here, as per her request. It was only a few hours ago that I realized she was badly hurt. It seems that someone has given her quite the beating."

"It's that bad, huh?"

"She'll be fine." The Trandoshan extended his hand. "The name's Bulo Drassk. I'm a usual shipper to these parts of space. Business has been slow lately, as you can see by my cargo." He indicated the tail end of his ship where a loader droid was carrying a crate out of the ship's hold and into the back of a hover truck. He counted a total of twenty bread box-sized crates, way under average for freighters to be carrying. "That's why I agreed to carry Flight Officer Veyanol here."

"All that I can say is, you may be getting a lot more business now that a war's starting out here." He frowned as something clicked in his mind. "You sure are a long way from Dosha."

Referring Trandosha as "Dosha" made Drassk smile. No one, save for Trandoshans themselves, called the world they came from "Dosha." "Be careful about what you say human. Some Trandoshans may take offense to your calling our homeworld by that name."

"I'm glad _you_ have an open mind."

"It's the only thing that keeps me alive out here. I'd tell you why I'm out here, but I don't have time tonight. Maybe I'll see you around." He brushed past Ditch and climbed up into his ship. "If you'll excuse me, I have to clean up the blood on my couch and then try to get some sleep. . . . Oh, would you mind throwing that door up to me?"

About thirty minutes later, Welf Pikins's private car hovered in next to Ditch's and Jetti Pikins emerged from the driver's seat.

Ditch rose from his seat next to Ramel and Dae, just in time to be slapped in the face by a large hand. "Ditch, I'm breaking up with you. I'm sorry but I just can't handle it anymore. I hope you're not disappointed."

Ditch killed a smile that tried to creep up his face. "Hey, I understand completely. I'm really sorry about what happened, but I had no control over it. I'll miss you very much."

She didn't pick up on the fact that it was a ploy and leaned over to kiss him full on the mouth. He tried to break away, but her hands prevented him from doing so. She rubbed one hand over his back as she broke the kiss and grabbed the collar of his shirt with the other. She moved both hands to the front of his shirt, and undid the highest button attached to the other side of his shirt. She raked her hands along his chest and kissed him one more time. "No! I can't let you have your way. I'm leaving and I'm _not_ coming back to you, you asshole!"

His eyes widened in utter horror as she ran back to her car and shot down the hill.

He turned around to face his two friends, while buttoning up his shirt. He strode over to them and dropped onto the bench, ignoring the looks they shot at him.

"Ditch," Ramel began, "Your mouth area is red from lipstick."

"At least it isn't purple, like last time."

Dae raised the skin above his right eye. "That kind of turned me on." Ditch and Ramel eyed him in disbelief. The Duros scratched the back of his head. "I mean, it _would_ have if I were human and Jetti was halfway decent."

Ditch rubbed his mouth unsuccessfully and said, "Don't tell _anyone _about this."

"Oh, we won't tell anyone." Dae shot him a sly grin. "We'll tell _everyone_."

The transport rumored to be carrying Barnootsna cadets set down a few minutes later, and the security guard, Ramel, Dae, and Ditch were all waiting just outside the slip when the hatch opened and a retractable stairway emerged from inside.

Passengers, not cadets, transpired from the ship first. A group of HoloNet reporters took a few shots of the foursome waiting outside and of the spaceport. They moved past Ditch and the others, over to the edge of the hill, where only a half-meter-thick ferrocrete wall separated them from a fifty-meter drop into the city.

After the passengers received their bags from the stewards and stewardesses, they called cabs or loved ones or just casual acquaintances to pick them up from a booth containing eight phones. Ditch watched as three familiar and five unfamiliar cadets walked down the stairway, collected their bags, and watched the hatch close behind them as the stewards and stewardesses hopped back inside.

A blond-haired, green-eyed, muscular man was the first to march out of the gate. He was two-meters tall, making him a little taller than most humans, and bore the same old shitty grin that Ditch had known for so long. He carried four large suitcases—two in each hand—and carried them as if they were weightless. By the gym records, he could bench press one-hundred-and-fifty-five kilograms. In addition to his outstanding physical record of winning almost every physical contest or activity in his three years at Barnootsna Academy, he was perhaps the best junior pilot at the Academy.

Ditch could beat him sometimes, of course, but two-thirds of the time, Jona Taley emerged from the simulator pod as the day's victor.

He grinned broadly at Ditch. "Hey, Necco, how's it going? Still dating the prettiest girl on campus?"

"No, Jetti just broke up with me."

Mostly because of their highly competitive record, the two didn't exactly get along as well as most did in the Academy.

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that." His energetic face turned stone cold. "How did we do?"

"Well, we drove off the warlords, but suffered heavy casualties." Ditch lowered his head solemnly. "Most of the juniors and seniors were killed in the lieutenant governor's mansion after a ship hit them."

"How did you manage to make it out?"

"I was on the balcony and landed in a wagon. Poor Dae landed right next to the late governor's ass in its cage. We sort of 'adopted' the creature since its master died."

"May I ask what you were doing on the balcony at the exact time the Y-wing hit? I only ask because there's some really hot HoloNet reporter who sat next to me on the ship asking if I had any leads to whom the spy might be."

"Spy?" Ramel asked, indecisiveness forming in his voice.

"Oh, this reporter thinks there may be a spy on Gaffeo 2 that led the warlords here." He eyed ditch curiously. "So, what _were_ you doing on the balcony."

"I was with Seria."

"Hah, very funny."

Ramel grinned. "They were kissing at about that time. On the lips, too."

Jona grabbed Ditch's head and rubbed his hair. Despite their rivalry, Jona often acted as if Ditch was his kid brother. They acted a lot alike, even though they didn't like to admit it, and both of them were only children, so they often treated each other as the brother they never had—being "brothers" explained their bickering, as well. "You little rascal, I always knew that you'd score big."

Calling him "little" made Ditch slightly angry, since he was a tad older than Jona. He guessed that "little" was as in size.

The security guard said, "Hey, you're Taley, aren't you."

Jona grimaced with pain. "I swear, officer, she never told me her age."

The guard took a step back in disbelief. "Uh, no, that's not why I asked. I've seen some of your simulations and I have to say you're the best behind the stick I've ever seen—I mean in _ships_, of course. Anyway, I have to say that your equally as good in an Interceptor as you are in an X-wing."

He glanced over his shoulder in time to see two passengers fighting over a phone in the booth. "Oh, I have to go."

"Fucking suck-up. Everyone knows I'm not that good. He just wants me hook him up with some young hotties." Then the guard jogged off toward the booth. Jona watched him leave, then looked back at the two aliens next to them. "So Ramel, Dae, what were _you _doing on the balcony?"

Dae leaned in close, so as to prevent bystanders from hearing him. He quietly said, "We were taping Ditch and Seria. Porn sells for a fortune around the campus."

"Yes, I know . . ." Jona's gaze trailed off toward the group of HoloNet reporters waiting on benches by the parking lot.

Ditch tracked his gaze and grinned at his friend/foe. "So, what's with this reporter."

Jona blushed as he tilted his head back to the trio in front of him. "I think I'm in love. This reporter is funny and pretty and understanding . . . and the list of perfection goes on and on."

Dae nodded as he listened to Jona's speech. "This reporter sounds wonderful. What did you say his name was, again?"

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

As the door leading from Welf Center's hallway to the pilot's briefing room opened, the room occupant's clattering escaped into the hallway. Twenty-four seats on either side of the pathway that led down to the center of the room at a 30-degree angle met perpendicularly at a holoprojector, making it look somewhat similar to the seating arrangements found at holo theaters.

At the base of the hill, atop the holoprojector, sat Commander Cale Soner, disregarding the sign: Don't put Pressure on Holoprojector. The front six seats were already occupied and the row behind was filled with only halfway, leaving the other five seats unoccupied.

The semicircle ended three meters beyond Soner and the holoprojector, where the semicircle ended on either side and formed into a straight platform. This box was used for the purpose of senior officers who overlooked the briefing and wanted to look higher than everyone else in the room. Commandant Welf Pikins was one of those people. Oddly, Pikins and his staff remained absent for the day.

Ditch Necco closed the door behind him and paced down the ramp that led to the second row of seats. He chose the left side and seated himself in the third seat from the pathway, the two to his right being occupied by Jicks Yughey and Lonnell Jax, respectively. To their right, in the other section of chairs, sat Ramel Vorax and Dae Bootra, filling up the second row.

They were clearly the latecomers of the group.

That made perfect sense, since Jona Taley had taken them to breakfast at the finest breakfast bar on Gaffeo 2 (Kankof's Den) and Taley produced an amazing amount of hard currency when it came time to pay. Where he had received the money, Ditch didn't know and didn't really care. Despite his willingness to give in to the fact that Jona may be a spy and was being bought off by the warlords and turn him in for a trial, he just couldn't bring himself to raise the issue of his "big brother".

In the front row sat five aliens and two female humans. He knew the stocky Bothan sitting in the leftmost seat of the right section in front of Ramel, Tefkar Oothkar next to the Bothan, and the Sullustan with a head similar to that of a mouse's directly in front of Ditch.

To the Sullustan's right, a female human he'd never seen before and _something_ were chatting. That something had brushed past Ditch a few times in the Academy halls, but he couldn't place a species on _its_ face. A private poll had been taken, which only Dae entered. The Duros proclaimed that _it_ was a Gand, and as a space-roamer Dae had run into the Gands on more than one occasion.

The Gand wore a mask that enveloped its entire head, with a rebreather unit as a mouthpiece placed under its insect eyes. Dae had explained that Gands could not live in normal atmosphere conditions, normal as in normal for humans and most other sentient species. The flight suit it wore was rather odd, looking more like a cloak than a suit to fly in. Ditch imagined that he would have to wear a similar unit if he ever visited the Gand homeworld.

Soner nodded at the assembly of pilots and cadets, then rose to his feet. "Good morning. For those who don't know me, I'm Commander Cale Soner, on detached duty from an X-wing fighter group on Corulag. For those who don't know where Corulag is and would like to know, it is on the Perlemian Trade Route, just Coreward of Chandrila. For those of you who don't know where _Chandrila_ is, you need to get caught up on current events.

"That is one such reason that we are here today." He paused and studied each of them. "Brentaal is just Rimward of Chandrila and it is where the Perlemian Trade Route and Hydian Way intersect. If you follow Hydian Way toward Wild Space, you'll eventually arrive at Corellia, my homeworld."

He waved a hand as the pilots became bored and their wavering attention toward him halted. "In around a week, we will receive _one_ Corellian Corvette from _Agamar_, which is close enough to us that I'm sure you know about it. The _Keepsake_ will help us in our defense effort greatly if another strike comes. However, a Corellian Corvette cannot fend off a frigate/carrier. The combined forces of the ships at Unngrae, our ships, and the _Keepsake_ _will_ prevail in an attack from the frigate/carrier, but we have no idea where the next strike will be, if it _does_ come and half of our force cannot defeat the _Tendentious_.

"In addition, we have an Imperial Star Destroyer Mark II in the Sinagig System, a thirty-two-hour flight from here."

This caused the pilots to raise an eyebrow and commit their full attention to Soner.

He nodded solemnly. "That's not the worst of it, either. Rumor has it that two _fleets_ of Star Destroyers have entered the sector and are already setting up bases and outposts along the edge of the system."

"Two _fleets_?" asked the Sullustan.

"That is correct," he said as he glanced down at the roster sheet laying on the holoprojector, "Lieutenant Kadar. At least ten capital ships, fifteen at the most."

"Good god," Ditch muttered to Jicks.

Slyna Derake raised a hand. "Haven't we called in reinforcements from the Core?"

Soner shook his head. He flipped a switch on the holoprojector, and it whistled to life and creased its way into a miniature model of a world. "This is Corellia. A few days before the attack, just after the Trade Summit began, Coruscant received word from Luke Skywalker and Lando Calrissian that they had been denied access to the entire Corellian System."

Eleven shallow faces stared at him blankly. He muttered, "You really are uninformed out here on the Edge." He played with the holoprojector buttons and zoomed out, in order for them to see the entire Corellian System. Five inhabitable planets were indicated as Corellia, Selonia, Drall, Talus and Tralus, with the system's border just beyond the planet furthest from the star in the center of the screen. Just within that white borderline hovered a hatched sphere completely surrounding the system.

"You can't deny someone access to an entire _system_," argued Ramel Vorax.

Dae Bootra shook his head at his Rodian friend. "You've never visited the Core, have you?"

Soner nodded with affirmation. "You both are correct. The system government or military _can_ deny you access to the system if they really wanted to. However, you and others could still enter the system, only to be forced out later. The Corellian incident is another case. There is some source of energy within the system being broadcast to the edge of the Corellian system, and perhaps throughout the entire system, that denies ships access via hyperspace. This is a force that uses something similar to an Interdictor cruiser to blockade the system. Any ship that comes close will emerge from hyperspace."

"That shouldn't tie up the whole New Republic force," protested Ditch.

"It's just precautionary. The Corellian system is very strange and alien artifacts have been discovered within the planets' core. If someone found something powerful enough to cut off a system from the rest of the Galaxy, who knows what else they could find. Admiral Ackbar has positioned his fleet in the nearby sectors while Coruscant's defense fleet is sticking closer to home. Ships have been placed throughout the Core and Inner Rim, in case something ugly comes out of Corellia."

Soner lowered his head and shook it gently. "We're being told that the New Republic has _better_ things to do, right now."

"What could be more important than saving lives?"

"Well, Jicks, the Core."

Yughey spun to face Dae. "We're being ignored because the Core _might_ have a little problem?" He clenched his fist in anger. "All the ships in the Core can't stand up to the Corellians? That's bullshit."

Ditch put a hand on his roommate's agitated shoulder. "Easy, Jicks."

Jicks shrugged the hand off. "And what about the Mid Rim and some nearby sectors in the Outer Rim? Can't they help us out?"

The Commander messed with the holoprojector again, until the screen went blank. "They have _bigger_ problems right now, according to their representatives."

The Bothan, Lieutenant Ghuessh Bro'shaw, said, "Did they say what kind of problems?"

"No, and I don't think they plan on telling us."

"So what's the plan?" asked the female human, whom Ditch didn't know.

"You are Bilona Tole, yes?" When she nodded, he typed in a command on the holoprojector. A massive ship, wedge-shaped and horrific beyond compare, appeared in one half of the screen and an image of an attractive woman in an Imperial captain's uniform in the other half. "This is Captain Azia, a loyal Imperial officer in command of the star destroyer _Executioner_. Both names paint a scary holo, and Azia has killed more Alliance personnel than imaginably by you Edgers, but her ship is the best chance we have at survival."

Ghuessh Bro'shaw stroked his creamy fur gently. "You do realize, of course, that this is high treason?"

"We have notified the New Republic of our plan. We told them that if they would not help us, we would seek outside help. I strongly dislike the Empire, but I detest the warlords. I guess it's the lesser of the two evils."

Ditch raised a hand. "Is that resignation I hear in you voice?"

"It is." Soner picked up the glass of water he'd set on the holo cabinet and sipped from it. "I have noted my objections of the plan to Pikins, but he suggests that it is in our best interest to ally with Captain Azia."

Gren Kadar raised an eyebrow. Or he would have, if he had one. "You refer to our new _ally_ as Captain Azia, not the Empire."

"Well, she sort of left without telling her superiors, according to her latest message. She'll arrive just after the Corvette, since she needs to make a few stops on the way."

"So she's turned rogue?" asked Ramel.

"No, she just knows the difference between right and wrong." Soner set the glass down. "Unfortunately, most of the New Republic's officers _don't_."

Jicks Yughey said, "What about these warlords? Are they rogue, or just dictating their own private government?"

"Warlord Fiell is mentally insane, which makes him unpredictable and very illogical. He is a force to be reckoned with, having at least six capital ships under his command. Admiral Shrok Bandanor is prudent, resourceful, and never afraid to back down when the going gets tough. He's currently entered a military alliance, but we will see if one of them takes complete control over the other, as we suspect. Bandanor has at least four capital ships, including the _Tendentious_ and the star destroyer spotted at Sinagig by Lieutenant Colonel Rin Dinjin. We know for a fact that Warlord Fiell is holding two systems outside the Unngrae Sector and at least three within it. Bandanor has no current worlds, except for a rumored 'Headquarters' world somewhere in the sector."

"I was under the impression that the warlords banded together during the Daala crisis." Necco crossed his arms and leaned back against his chair.

Years ago, Admiral Daala, assumed dead by everyone, reemerged from her hiding spot with a bunch of warlord's ships. She had _convinced_ the warlords to give up their fight with one another and then built a new Empire. She reigned terror with her new fleet on many worlds, some of them in the Unngrae Sector.

"They all did, as far as we know, except for Fiell and Bandanor. But Warlord Fiell was too crazy to accept Daala's offer and remained a warlord. Bandanor doesn't really have a good excuse, to our knowledge, but he never does anything unless he thinks that it's in his best interests. I'm sure he knew what he was doing."

The pilots had recovered from most of their shock by now, and were accepting Soner's revelation a little easier. They still trembled at the thought that the New Republic had left them high-and-dry, but nothing Soner said would help them cope with that.

"So why did you get to drop the proton torpedo on us?" Lonnell asked.

He tapped his breastplate, bringing their attention to his insignia. "I'm starfighter support for Sovereign Squadron. I've been assigned to establish a sub-squadron to assist the Sovereigns on their missions."

Ditch glanced around the room, double-checking his recent headcount. "And we're it?"

"Yes." He shrugged helplessly and pulled out a short stack of permasheets. "That is, if you want the job. If so, come sign up. If not, the door's behind you. I must warn you, however, that once you make your decision, you'll be given no chance to change you mind. This is a grave time and we need all the pilot's we can get, which is why I volunteered. I sincerely hope you'll do the same."

"Why us?" asked Ramel.

"Yes," Dae said, "why us? We have no skills, except getting drunk of our asses and waking up in bed with a woman." He sighed and lowered his voice to a whimpering whisper. "At least, most of us have that skill."

Then Ditch witnessed the oddest sight that he'd ever seen. Dae dropped his head on Ramel's shoulder and started to sob silently. The Rodian, perplexed and embarrassed, shoved the Duros pilot away.

"True, which is exactly why I picked you. Once Colonel Pikins sees my roster, he'll have a temper tantrum and be on medication for a few months, but," he said, smiling, "that's the idea."

He shut off the holoprojector and examined them again. "I also tend to have the same qualities as you, making us a perfect team."

"Like hell you do!" Jicks protested violently. "We're still young and sexy, and you're just an old man."

"I'm twenty-five standard years old, Flight Cadet Yughey."

Tefkar Oothkar raised a hand. "On Unngrae, you'd be forty-three, then."

Soner grimaced as he thought for a moment. "It's irrelevant to the situation how old I'm on Unngrae, because I'm _still_ twenty-five by my chronometer. Now, I'll tell you the real reason that I want _you_ instead of some people from the other nineteen remaining juniors."

He waited for the noise to die out, then said, "Flight Cadet Necco, what was your major, this year?"

Ditch thought for a moment. "Something to do with groundside operations, just in case I crash my ship in enemy territory."

"Lieutenant Bro'shaw?"

"I take the same classes as Necco, which is why we're in, unfortunately, the same Training Flight."

"What about you, Flight Officer Vorax."

"The same as them."

Soner nodded. "Eight of you have taken the course. The other three that hasn't, assuming they want the job, will be on my wing as One Flight. Lieutenant Kadar's group would be Two Flight, and Lieutenant Bro'shaw's would be Three Flight. Now, I'll say it one more time: if you don't want the job, leave now."

All eleven pilots looked around at each other, then back at Soner, with unreadable facial expressions. Not a single body rose from their seat.

Their new commander smiled and raised his comlink. "Boltar, you can seal the door shut now."

Ditch froze stiff. "Boltar? As in Mr. Kankof's doorstop, Boltar."

"He _is_ a doorstop, Necco. He'll prevent anyone from entering _or_ leaving. As I said before, there's no turning back once you've decided.

"First, I want to get to know each and every one of you." Soner moved away from the holoprojector and took a seat in the second row, next to Dae. For a moment, Ditch thought the sobbing bastard was going to lean against the commander like a faggot would, but the Duros resisted the temptation. "Flight Cadet Bootra, are you up to telling me a little bit about you?"

Dae straightened and wiped away the last of his tears. "I am one of the best pilots on Duro and my friends told me that I required no training and should stay with them. I didn't listen and joined the New Republic Academy, even though I was currently in a defense squadron. I expected to be sent to an academy; they had other ideas and shipped me to Barnootsna. I'm the only Duros pilot on Gaffeo2 and perhaps in the entire Unngrae Sector. Other species won't go out with me," he shook his head in distaste of himself, "and trust me, I've tried _both_ genders. Hence, I haven't been laid in three years. On Duro, I got some from my three girlfriends, _every_ night. Not at the same time, of course. If I'm feeling adventurous one night, I call my inexperienced girlfriend who'll try anything; if I feel tired, I invite my next-door neighbor, who also happens to be a whore, over and she does all the work, _for free_; and if I feel great and am in need of a challenge, I show up on my lesbian wingman's front door and try to work my way into her _and_ her lesbian lover at the same time. I guess that's four girlfriends, but who's counting?"

Jicks whooped in admiration and respect for the Duros."Hell yeah!"

Soner and every decent soul that heard Dae's words gaped at the Duros in disbelief and horror. Ditch threw another round of applause and Ramel slapped his hand against Bootra's.

Soner looked at Ramel. "Okay, Flight Officer Vorax. Tone this down to at least a PG-13 rating."

Ramel puckered his lips and said, "I come from the crappiest planet in the Galaxy, next to Kessel and Ord Mantell. Rodia castigated me the whole time I was there and I ran as far away as I could—Gaffeo Two. At least Barnootsna has clean toilets and isn't overrun by gambling. I watched my father shoot himself in the foot with a blaster while trying to escape my mother, who had a vibroblade in her hand. He pulled it out of his holster, but the vibroblade drove into his shoulder and he blew half his foot off due to reflex. He then got the blaster out and shot her in the eye, but her vibroblade slit his throat. I was just a little kid, about five years old, and watched the blood squirt all other me with utter horror. I buried them using the vibroblade to dig a whole, then took their money on a ticket out of Rodia. I was then taken under the wing of another Rodian named Greedo. He was in all kind's of nasty shit, but I never complained since he saved my life and funded all of my operations. I was six when we walked into a cantina on Tatooine. I watched from a nearby booth as some Corellian dick-head shot Greedo from underneath the table they were doing business at. Then I got a ride with one of his Rodian buddies, whose name I forgot, who dumped me at an orphanage, where I was raised until eighteen. After that I applied for New Republic training, and only got in once I was twenty-one."

Soner tried to smile, but just couldn't find the strength to do so. "See, Yughey," he said in a painful voice, "he's almost my age."

"Yeah, but he's an ugly alien that looks like the shit that flew out of my ass in the john this morning. Never, _never_, let a friend pay you five dollars in order to eat that green ball in the salad at the rec room. I was on the pot eating frozen cream for an hour."

Ditch raised an eyebrow. "Thanks for sharing that with us."

"Okay, what about you, Flight Cadet Jax?"

"I happen to be the most popular cadet in the entire sector. If you go into the men's bathroom, that poster on the wall is of me on nude-picture-day."

"Then, by all means, remind me _not _to go in there."

Lonnell huffed scornfully and crossed her arms. "Wait til you see the size of my tits."

Cale grinned. "Trust me, I've seen better on a _male _gundark."

Dae glanced at Soner. "You do that, too?"

Ramel's eyes widened to the size of golf balls as he stared at his friend.

"Uh, no, I was just joking."

Dae donned an embarrassed blush. "Oh, yes . . . me too."

Lonnell broke back in. "I'm also the best pilot of the bunch, according to my sim final exams a few weeks ago."

Dae nodded. "Granted, but only because Ditch and I missed class that day. We were driving around town, picking up chicks. Well, _I_ was driving and _he_ was picking up chicks, but I got to watch in the rearview mirror, so it's all good."

Ditch grinned sheepishly. "That's not exactly how it went down."

"What, Necco? Are you afraid someone here's going to tell Seria? That would be a great moment to capture on a holo cam. _After_ you sleep together, of course. Ramel and I still have to tape something and sell it in order to get some fat cash from everyone here and all the way back to Duro."

"That's a good idea," Soner complimented. "Do you know that pornography _and_ sexual activities are illegal in any New Republic academy and that the punishment is dismissal from the academy _and_ the Republic?"

"Well," Ramel said, leaning over Dae to whisper in Soner's ear. Ditch couldn't make out what was being said, but he had it narrowed down pretty far.

He knew he'd hit the mark when Soner grimaced and said, " . . . But we're all friends here, so none of us will mention the Dae and Ramel's holo cam."

Ghuessh Bro'shaw was called upon next. "I come from Kothlis, a colony of Bothawui. My father died a hero, retrieving the Death Star plans from the Imperial freighter _Suprosa _many years back. I lived with my mom until I joined the Bothan Martial Academy, but I washed out after the first year. Then I came here."

"Why did you washout of the Bothan Martial Academy?"

"I'd rather not go into the details of that, sir."

"And you, Necco?"

"I lived with my parents until they enrolled me here at age seventeen. That's about it for my life."

Soner raised an eyebrow suspiciously. "I see."

The rest of the pilots went into their own little stories, proving that each one had some mental problem. To say that Commander Soner was pleased with his batch of recruits would be an overstatement.

For a few minutes, Soner stood there, gaping in awe at the eleven people around him. "Well, one thing's for sure: this group's going to be the most interesting since the Wraiths."

"The who?"

Soner shifted his gaze toward Ditch and sighed helplessly. "Oh, just a group of former pilots I know back on Coruscant; it's unimportant. Anyway, I'm due for a meeting with Commandant Pikins in twenty. Assemble in the sim pods at 1400. Don't worry, I've had your dinner moved up to 1650. This evening's sim results dictate your squadron positions and wingman pairs."

Soner gathered his paper's and walked past the pilots and paused at the door at the top of the ramp. He yelled for Boltar to open the door, waited for it open, and disappeared through the doorway. The pilots followed shortly and Ditch and Dae walked right to the exit, while the others turned left toward the lobby. As eight pilots rounded the corner to proceed inward, a furry Bothan broke off and headed for the exit.

The Duros pilot halted Ditch outside and said, "Something big's up that Soner's ass."

"He seems fine to me. What did Ramel say to him?"

"He threatened to air a film of him banging that Vrinslath chick."

"Damn, dog! When did you have time to that sick-ass shit? You were filming me on the balcony while they were doing their foreplay and sleeping with the lieutenant governor's jack ass when they finally got it on; _if_ they got it on, that is."

"Well, it turns out that camera we rented had a secondary function. It comes with a tiny camera used to attach to a person's collar. When Ramel went up to Carmen and told she had a nice ass, he dropped his hand on her breasts and implanted the camera inside her dress onto her bra. We were safely in the hospital beds watching what happened while we were unconscious from the safety of the camera. With that extra camera, you can watch two porno shows at the same time."

"Thanks for sharing that with me. How about lunch; it's on me."

"What's the occasion?"

Ditch leaned back in his booth and crossed his arms behind his head. They had ordered already and still waiting the arrival of their meals. Dae ordered fried ass (as in the donkey, you sick fuck) and Jackalion juice, which was not one of Ditch's favorites. Necco just ordered the day's special.

"I want to discuss the night of the attack."

"If this is about the raped nurse, I can honestly say that I was _not_ the culprit."

"That's good to know, but I wasn't accusing you. I was thinking more along the lines of betrayal. I'm trying to piece together who is behind the ambush. It was just a shuttle and they sent a capital ship. I know that Commander Soner cleared things up pretty well back in the briefing room, but I still think there's something larger than we can imagine going on here. I take that back; I _know_ there's something going on here. Pikins and company see an opportunity to get power and money, but never would imagine that what they hold could be the end of them. The Imps, the warlords, everyone, wants that probe. The only group that doesn't is the New Republic. They won't help us, I'm sure as hell Pikins won't know what to do with it, and the UDF _really_ wants it.

"Pikins thinks he holds a bargaining chip, but if we don't find out what the hell's really on that probe and find a way to use it for protection, we're going to have every ship in the sector overhead. The reason: because an Imperial shuttle accidently found a probe and wouldn't return it to its rightful owner and brought it here instead. The Imps don't want the warlords after them any more than they already are, so coming here would be kept secret and Gaffeo 2 didn't know they were coming, which leaves only a warlord's agent _here_ in Gaffton, who has access to top-secret information."

"Ditch, you think too much. We have no control over it, so why worry?"

"I think that it's someone close to us."

"Why's that?"

Ditch peered beyond Dae just in time to see a furry head turn his way from the booth adjacent to the Duros's couch. Lieutenant Ghuessh Bro'shaw, the manipulator, the schemer, the scam-artist, and the taller of the two Bothans in Barnootsa, grinned broadly, baring his jagged fangs. He looked similar to a vicious canine, such as a wolf or dog found on only a handful of planets. He was known to have come from Kothlis, a Bothan colony in the Mid Rim, a short distance from Ramel's homeworld of Rodia and on the opposite side of Coruscant from Gaffeo 2. He and Korb Yua'lak were the only Bothans among the bunch.

"Care to join us, sir?" The Duros scooted over and patted the seat. "My butt leaves a good impression on the seat, but I'm sure you can impress her even more."

"_Right_."

The obtuse alien strode over in a dazzling fashion, as if he were the Emperor of the universe. He plopped down in the seat and rubbed his creamy fur affectionately, admiring the silkiness of his own hair. Of the two Bothans, this was his least favorite.

"I wish to join the conversation. I have had some suspicions and would like to voice them to some fellow . . . _squadmates_."

Saying that pained him deeply.

The waiter came back and delivered Dae and Ditch's plates. He handed Ditch some fried ass and Jackalion juice. Ditch passed it to Dae, who was staring down at a similar plate. Both plates were marked _Today's Special_. "Hungry, Lieutenant Bro'shaw."

"No, my own meal's coming soon."

"Mmm, I love fried ass. I'll take Duros or alien, as long as its soft and tasty."

"So what are you doing here, lieutenant?"

"Well, Ditch, I was going to announce that your discharge papers have gone through. They were rejected by Pikins, and just yesterday I received a notice that I was free to discharge you anytime I felt like it. That Pikins sure changes his mind fast. I decided against it during the meeting, seeing as how your going to be my wingman."

"What makes you think that? I'm on Jax's wing now."

"Well, I don't trust Yughey anymore. I just hope _you_ won't shoot me."

Dae asked, "What's wrong with Jicks?"

"Have you noticed he's been acting differently lately? He's been really angry and swearing more than usual. He never swears."

Ditch knew he was right, but didn't like what Ghuessh was implying. Jicks could be angry that the attack failed, which meant he was involved, which meant he was a spy . . . and also meant that Colonel Sen Yughey could be in on it, too. Colonel Yughey did seem very interested in Jicks's welfare, as if the kid was in trouble. Yughey was an honorable man and would never stand for something like sabotage done by his own nephew, unless it was sabotage against the _enemy._ If that was the case, they could be charged for high treason by the UDF or the New Republic.

"True," said Dae in between bites, "but I could think of better reasons for that. That psycho-bitch Jetti hasn't left him alone since he pushed her onto the balcony before the roof collapsed. I would've just left her grotesque ass in there. The fat probably would have cushioned her anyway and no harm done if she didn't survive."

"I hate to say it, but that's really mean and cold-hearted," stated Ditch. "She was a psycho-bitch but that doesn't mean she should die for it."

Bro'shaw sighed. "I guess Yughey's out."

Dae chewed a little more ass, then said, "How about Ramel?"

"Ramel!" Ditch protested. "Why the hell would you think that? He's our friend."

"So's Jicks. Ramel was gone before the dance and has a grudge against all humankind. After he received his promotion, he could have signaled his warlord buddies and sent them here."

The Bothan's fur rippled. "No. We recorded all incoming and outgoing transmissions during that time. It's impossible for him, or anyone else, to have sent a transmission in the last week without us knowing about it."

"I think Ramel's out," said Ditch. It was now his turn to accuse someone, but he couldn't conceive of anyone worth accusing in Bro'shaw's presence. Little, pointed ears have big, furry mouths. "I'm out of ideas."

The Bothan disagreed. "Oh, really? Only a few minutes ago you were flowing with suspicions. Were you about to denounce me as the treasonous rat before I showed up?"

"No, but since you're at the military councils, you may let something slip to Pikins and get my ass in a smasher."

Something glistened in the Bothan's violet eyes. "I would never dream of doing any such thing."

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

The melancholy roar emitted by Commandant Pikins could have been heard by the sleeping cadets from across the street if it had not been for the soundproof walls bordering his office. An enthusiastic Cale Soner grinned with delight and met Welf's stare from across the desk.

"I can assure you, sir, that they will prove to be most constructive under my command."

"Have you gone completely mad, commander? These eleven pilots are by no means constructive. They are _destructive_. It was just a few months ago that we had to rebuild half of the dormitory, because Necco, Bootra, and their band of merry men decided to have a little party. That klutz Yughey dumped thirteen gallons of flammable alcohol into a 'fresher and threw a lit match in with it."

Soner frowned sympathetically and insisted, "Then I won't have him refuel his X-wing."

"Wait, you want to lead them _and_ give them X-wings. They destroy sim pods, so you can imagine what they could do to an X-wing in live combat. Do you realize that they are only novices in astronavigation?"

"I have R2 units for them. They can manage the nav computer and repair."

"And where do you propose getting these X-wings you're talking about?"

Soner suggested the X-wing Trainers in the third hangar and Pikins was anything but delighted. The Trainers were too old, without proton torpedoes, strong lasers, and a hyperdrive system. The only strong point in the Trainers were the extra shields. Some of his pilots tended to get a bit reckless when it came to Gaffeo 2's canyons and mountain ranges, hence the need for extra shields.

"I can see the need for the shields, but the weak blaster cannons won't serve you well."

"Mr. Cocsiker assures me that the cannons have been modified just this year to use normal blasters."

"Yes, well Cocksucker is an old man with failing memory."

"I've seen a Trainer in action and I believe that it's satisfactory for my needs."

Pikins clasped his hands together in a praying motion and leaned forward onto the desk. He blinked constantly for a few moments, then dropped his hands to the table. "Necco can be quite resourceful in an X-wing, I'll give you that. I also want him out of my sight, so I place him at your disposal. Yughey is a retard with only his family name to credit him. Jicks is a fine lad, but I think my daughter is latching on to him. Make sure he doesn't come back in one piece."

Soner gasped, showing he was relieved to receive at least two pilots on his roster, but showed signs of contempt for Pikins and his condemnation of Jicks Yughey. He nodded politely and said, "I'm very grateful, sir."

"Lonnell Jax is nothing more than a porn star that passes her exams by sucking her instructors' dicks, so I'll let you take her." The heavyset man grinned slyly. "If possible, try to bring her back with her mouth still attached."

Soner coughed on that and desperately made a grab for the glass of water in front of him. He down the glass and slammed it against the table. "Can I have some more? . . . I mean _water_."

Pikins nodded understandingly and called his secretary to bring some water in, for both of them. The door to his office opened and a young, attractive female walked in, carrying two cups of water. Pikins examined her legs just below her very short, grey skirt for the twelfth time that day and made a mental note to approach her inconspicuously after Soner left. A plan formed in his mind, an ingenious plan that only a genius such as him could devise.

When he came back to reality, he saw her setting his cup in front of him then handing Soner his own cup. She winked at the pilot and tapped the bottom of the cup twice. Then she skittered away, her fine rear in tow. Pikins drooled at the sight, then he realized what had just gone down.

Soner subtly removed the paper from underneath the cup and slid it into his pocket, blushing the whole time. Pikins caught on just barely, but to anyone without the experience in note-passing affairs it would be unnoticeable. He was about to rebuke the young officer, then he recalled that Soner was not one of his measly cadets, but a respected commander of a fighter squadron on Corulag.

He ignored Soner for the moment, but made a mental note to kill him in the near future. "Max Kadar may be a lieutenant, but he is just as much of a lowlife as the rest of the cadets. Fry him for all I care."

"I hope that won't be necessary."

"Now Ghuessh Bro'shaw is a true pilot, experienced and a natural. He's a good example for the cadets and I would love for you to have him."

"Thank you."

"_But_, the problem is that he's _too_ good for your ragtag unit of brash cadets. I'd much rather have him join the Sovereigns but Commander Flarrisk has instead chosen a new arrival. Arina Veyanol is a traitor, clearly brainwashed by her warlord captors. However, Flarrisk is free to choose whoever he wants."

"Veyanol? The Barabel from Dinjin's old unit who came in just last night?"

"Yes, she's still recovering from her injuries—which are obviously fake—but will be ready by the time we make our move. Dinjin recommended her, even though I explained to him the dangers of a warlord's spy in the unit."

Pikins dismissed Soner's question about Dinjin's current plans and proceeded with the report on the roster. "Anyway, Bro'shaw must remain an example to the cadets and we don't want him to become a bad example. However, I trust his judgment and leave the decision in his hands. I couldn't care less about what you do to the others, but bring Ghuessh back alive."

"I'll see what I can do."

"Flight Officer Vorax is a excellent slicer, which makes him a threat to the New Republic. Take him if you choose to do so." He shuffled through the papers until he found another good comment for commentary. "Vali Guarg, the Gand, is an unusual creature. If you can understand a word she says, you're free to take her."

Soner nodded and drank half the glass of water in front of him. "Sounds interesting."

"You have no idea." He turned to the next page. "Slyna Derake is too fast to keep tabs on, and I don't recommend using her."

"Why's that?" Soner frowned. "You mean using her in regards to flying, don't you?"

This caused a low chuckle to emit from Pikins. "I meant that she's Duhnoen."

"Why's that a problem? I didn't have you figured for a racist, seeing as how much confidence you have in Bro'shaw."

"I'll come back to this, in _much_ more detail, in a minute." He switched pages again until he found Bilona Tole. "Tole is a nobody. She's a bit odd, but, hey, compared to the rest she seems halfway decent. She used to be a pirate and a glitbiter, so you'd better watch out for her. Tefkar Oothkar is somewhat of a tomboy and hangs tight with the males. I personally think she's a lesbian, coming from an all-female nuthouse can have some drastic effects on young girls. Can you imagine it, Soner? An entire institution filled with females having sex with each other, most likely taking turns sticking their fingers into one another." He whistled thoughtfully. "It reminds me of a movie I saw once called—"

Soner, with his mouth hanging opening and eyes widening, slammed a fist down on the table, ending Pikins's messed-up thought. "Good _god_, would you shut the _fuck_ up? I don't get paid to listen to this. For the love of god, spare me from this shit, you _sick_ fuck."

"Do I need to remind you that I am your superior officer?"

Soner finished his water and smashed the cup. "Not at all, but no one deserves to hear this. Now I can't get that image out of my head . . . Ugh, that's just not right."

"Yes, but what a lovely time to have a camera."

"Sir, I think you have more in common with Flight Officers Vorax and Bootra than you can ever imagine."

"Yes, which reminds me how upset I am with you for promoting all ten of those juvenile delinquents. Now on to Bootra. He's screwier than Palpatine, but I would never dream of separating him from Necco and Vorax. They make a great trio."

Pikins finished his commentary and Soner bit back the urge to blow chunks all over the room. Pikins hit a switch on his desk and the wall behind him slid apart to reveal a map of the sector. He rose from his seat and grabbed a pointing stick. He wacked the two-dimensional map of the Unngrae Sector, the stick now pointing to Gaffeo 2. He explained that was where they were. He then showed Soner where Unngrae and Duhnoe were. He marked Gaffeo and Unngrae with a New Republic insignia by typing in a command on the keypad below the map. Then he put an Imperial sign over Sinagig, where the enemy was supposedly gathering.

"In between us and Sinagig there is only one strategic strong point for the warlords."

"Duhnoe won't give up without a fight," Soner insisted.

Pikins shook his head. "They already have. The entire system is in arms. A small armada of about three dozen fighters and two ships the size of a Corellian Corvette are being prepared for war as we speak."

"You're not saying that they're going to attack _us_?"

"They seem to want the probe's contents as much as the UDF or warlords. We have to give it to the UDF, otherwise we won't receive their support and will left unshielded from attack by the warlords. Commander Flarrisk is urging me to give him the probe to take to Unngrae and is already setting up an operation to do so. The Duhnoens have issued a statement confirming their secession from the New Republic and the Unngrae Defense Fleet. They seem to be allying themselves with the warlords."

"Why would they do such a thing?"

"I'm a bit stumped on that myself, but I'm sure they'll reveal it in someway."

"That's not very reassuring."

"Too bad. It's not my problem, anyway. I'm allowing you to go on with you're little scheme, Soner, but don't screw this up. You're to follow Commander Flarrisk's orders, no matter what. He will be departing with the probe tomorrow and you're going with him, squadron or no squadron. Get your people ready tonight, Cale. You're going to Unngrae tomorrow."

"There is another option, you realize?"

"The New Republic."

Soner nodded. "The UDF isn't what it seems. Turning it over to them will just be like giving it back to the warlords."

"I know that, Soner. I'm thinking for the good of all Gaffeo Two, however. We have no other choice at the moment; we must decode that probe and Unngrae is the only place to do it. It's in you and Flarrisk's hands now. Just remember that you're using reckless kids, not trained starfighter pilots."

Gaffeo 2 was an extraordinary place. Its endless forests meshed with rivers and streams over its varied and rugged landscape was dazzling. Observers could not see the stars at night through the blanket that was the forest's canopy. The sounds of the forests during the day were curious but delightful, even more so at night.

Ditch Necco didn't see the beauty of the forests, didn't hear its whispers. On average nights he would sneak out of the dormitory and into the forest, just to think about things. He would see only what was directly in front of him, the next tree that he would have to move around to proceed onward through the expansive locale. He would hear only the annoying howls of vicious Jackalions that could be waiting in ambush just beyond the next tree.

He heard no howls this night and he could not process what he saw in front of him. His thoughts were consumed by other matters.

Ditch knew of an area only about fifty meters ahead that rose into a naked hill. From there he could see the stars, which is the only reason he choose to come. The stars didn't fascinate him, nor interest him in the least bit. They were simply a backdrop to the environment and a marker of other worlds.

Upon reaching his getaway, he found that someone was waiting for him. He moved nearer quietly and set his bottle of whiskey on the ground, untouched and waiting to be opened. Then he dropped to the ground and stared upward.

"You're late," Seria said.

"I didn't think I was expected."

She smiled and glanced over at him. "Dae told me you sometimes come here to think. I must admit that the scenery is impressive, especially the sounds of the forest."

He made himself listen to the forest, but his ears only revealed the sound of a Jackalion, nearby. He rested his head on the grass, his arms holding the back of his neck, and listened _harder_. There was definitely _something_ out there, besides the Jackalion, but he couldn't interpret it. It was unlike anything he had ever heard or felt before.

"So is there a reason for following me out into the middle of nowhere?"

She was still looking at him when she replied, "I come to the forest sometimes, too."

"I've never seen you here," he accused.

"It's a big forest," she explained. "I wanted to talk to you, Ditch."

She returned her gaze skyward and exhaled deeply. "But first, I want you to tell me about this so-called squadron Cale Soner is forming."

Ditch grunted unenthusiastically. "We're assigned to assist Sovereign Squadron bring the probe to Unngrae."

Her brow's snaked fretfully. "Oh? I didn't realize that. It looks like we'll be working together."

"You sound surprised."

"Well, I came here to tell you that I was leaving tomorrow."

"Is that it?" Ditch asked, concerned.

"Well, and good-bye."

Ditch rolled over to meet her gaze. "What are you talking about?"

She shrugged. "I figured that I'd never see you again, that either I'd die or be pulled to another part of the galaxy after delivering the probe to Unngrae. This situation isn't getting better, only worse. The scary thing is that this happens at the same time as the Corellian event. It's almost as if it was coordinated and if it was, Gaffeo 2 is only the beginning of this conflict."

"At least we'll be together," he gambled.

She smiled weakly. "I guess so . . ."

Ditch turned away, feeling sheepish. _Way to go, Ditch_. "Never mind."

They remained silent for a long time and Ditch only looked back once he realized that she hadn't looked away, yet. He found himself staring into her eyes for a moment, then regrettably broke away.

"So have you learned the name of your squadron, yet?" she wondered, changing the subject.

"No, Soner hasn't said anything about a name. Ghuessh suggested _Kong _Squadron, but Dae and I disagreed."

"What's 'Kong' mean."

"It's old Bothan for an 'idiotic pilot'."

"That's sort of mean."

"But it's true. Each one of us belongs in a mental institution or prison. Except for Bro'shaw, that is."

"What about Commander Soner."

"He's the worst of the lot. The worst part is that he's an enigma, and I don't like solving puzzles unless I have to."

"Oh." Her voice turned soft. "And what about you, nuthouse or prison?"

"I thought nuthouse, but that was only until Jetti Pikins released me from my obligations. Now I'm not so sure." He probably should have been in the sector penitentiary, with all the illegal operations his family was involved in, but Seria didn't want to hear that.

Tired and worn-out from the multiple simulator runs, he decided to retire for the evening without going to Kankof's Den or the rec room. "I have to go, I'll see you in the morning."

He untucked his hands from behind his head and began to lift himself up. Seria's left hand fell on his right. She pushed him back down and gave him a playful shove. "You're not going to leave a girl all alone in the forest, are you?"

"Alright, I'll walk you home."

She grinned delightedly. "Finally, you're saying something I wanted to hear. However, I'm not finished listening to the forest and watching the stars."

_Oh great, _he thought, _now I have to stay out here with these wolves and trying to listen to something that isn't even there._

Somehow, that didn't seem like a horrible thought. True, the Jackalions were coming out for a night hunt about that time, but he felt comfortable where he was. Seria's hand atop his didn't hurt, either. He tried to relax and was finally able to, much more than he usually could.

Seria rolled over to him, closer than anyone had ever been to Ditch in a long time. He tried to escape once or twice, but after seeing that Seria had fallen asleep, he decided against leaving her. He took off his flight jacket and placed it over her, and decided to stay awake, in case a Jackalion happened by.

Within five minutes, both tired pilots had fallen asleep.

The turbolift clicked in place with an unusual banging sound and jolt that caught Captain Eiun Rugh off guard. _That's what you can expect from cheap machinery_.

He stepped off the platform, flanked by two guards in Imperial officer uniforms. During the rise of Rebellion, he could have expected an armed stormtrooper squad at his heels. Now he was stuck with two undertrained rookies, only one of whom carried a firearm. The young private to his right held the blaster rifle to his chest, sporting it with pride. The claw-bearing figure on his right hung his arms at his sides, his right hand being only centimeters from a short, shiny vibroblade that could be drawn and thrown into an aggressor's throat in a split second.

The Trandoshan didn't receive a uniform his size, and his arms stuck out of his jacket five inches more than they were supposed to. His boots were torn open, revealing very large, very green feet and three long, vicious toe nails—or claws—on each foot. His six fingers were equally intimidating, sporting claws only slightly not as impressive as on his feet.

The plank leading down the hallway shook violently as three pairs of feet clanked along them and workers on the floor glanced up at the commotion, staring intently at Rugh and the motley duo. The most attention was attracted to the exotic, who grunted feverishly.

A brash ensign leaned over to the young man next to him and grinned, muttering something inaudible to Rugh.

Rugh, too, had to admit that using a Trandoshan as a bodyguard seemed a bit irregular and untraditional, but the gigantic brute proved to be a quite useful specimen. Rugh was not a bigot, but he despised aliens, only because they seemed above the law in most cases.

He only accepted the gracious gift because the giver was none other than Tilin Vor'shak, who imported the Trandoshan from the Imperial Remnant. Evidently, Trandoshans were used often for ship maintenance and manual labor.

Most Trandoshans were not law abiding citizens, but neither were they, so Rugh had let the minor detail slip past him just this once.

The hallway was very cramped, being only two meters wide, and only one of those meters making up the width of plank. The floor below was only accessible by a ladder on either side of the plank and only had room for six computer stations—three on each side. The entire length of the room was only eight meters, and the height of both floors was only four meters—two meters per floor.

The Trandoshan, who had been called Forth Drassk by Vor'shak, had to duck as to not his head on the durasteel ceiling.

Using durasteel instead of duracrete had made the structure less sturdy, but was cheap and lightweight. The complex rested in a canyon on Harvest, part of it built into the canyon wall, and contained thirty floors, most of them much larger than the two Rugh was in. They were at the utmost bottom of the complex, dug three meters into the ground, which served as the special operations center and meeting area.

If Admiral Bandanor visited the site, he was sure to be impressed. In a matter of days, a firm out of Tsijenna had managed to carve deep holes into the lunar surface and deploy a quick-build base, which required little more maintenance than a computer console and a few heavy loader droids.

At the end of the short hallway, Rugh paused at a sliding door and entered a code at the terminal, which was also required to gain access to this floor. The door swished open with the _snap-hiss_ commonly found on such doors. The trio entered the circular room and took a seat around the oval table, where Captain Warty and Commander Haresh A'hat were seated.

The Trandoshan was the only alien on Harvest, save Haresh A'hat. The tall, skinny man was enveloped in a hideous purple, leather suit of skin and smelled similar to a ronk found on Cilpar, although Captain Rugh doubted that was just because of the fact A'hat was Dornean.

The base's commanding officer, also an ex-Imperial officer, greeted Rugh with a simple handshake and a smile. "Captain, are we ready to begin?"

Rugh said, "Yes, commander, let us begin. My second, Lieutenant Gonoe, will not be attending. He has taken the _Vigilante_ to Duhnoe."

"Is that legal?"

"Commander, we are no longer part of the Empire. We do what needs to be done so we can rid the galaxy of the Rebel Alliance."

"Yes, forgive me, captain."

"What about us?" asked Warty. "With the _Tend_ still under repairs at HQ, we're left vulnerable to attack."

"The New Republic doesn't know we are here. We have to make some sacrifices in war, and I'm willing to bet they wouldn't strike here if they did know about it. We need to protect Duhnoe, if we want to win them over to our cause."

"Is it necessary to have Duhnoe on our side?" asked A'hat. "They're defense force is too small to make a difference in anything and the _Vigilante _alone is enough to destroy the Unngrae Defense Fleet."

"You think about things from a militaristic angle, and I'd expect that from an ex-Marine like yourself. That is why I put you in charge of the military forces at this base," Rugh explained. "But I'm trying to think like a politician, as Bandanor often does. He is a great leader but he couldn't be unless he thought like an admiral, as well as a politician. Since he's left us high-and-dry, I am trying to do what he would do in these situations.

"Duhnoe has a small population, made up of mostly descendants of human colonists. Over the centuries, they adapted to their gaseous surroundings and sprouted fur and really odd-looking heads. That doesn't really have anything to do with our current situation, but I thought I'd add that so you know who we're dealing with."

Rugh paused for a moment, catching his breath. "Apparently the Unngrae Defense Fleet isn't all it's cracked up to be, and the New Republic has little authority out here on the Edge. These Duhnoens were on the verge of an uprising for years. They've been waiting for someone to come to their aid and help, and now they have someone. In return for hitting the UDF hard and providing protection for their system, the Duhnoens have offered us the civilian refueling station and fifty-percent of their groundside assets. With that amount of money, we can make twelve _billion_ credits every standard year for as long as we harbor Duhnoe. We also get overall command of their military."

"I don't want to imagine what Bandanor and Fiell could do with that kind of money," Warty commented.

"Well, if my plan goes right, they'll never see a decicredit of it."

The two officers exchanged worried glances. Captain Warty said, "How and _why_?"

"We're going to hide the profit in a special account I own. My reason for it is simple, yet I regret to inform you that I cannot give out that kind of information, yet."

"Does this have anything to do with the probe?" asked A'hat.

Rugh's only response was an amiable smile and a change of subject. "We're off the path, now, men. The purpose for this meeting is to decide whether or not we should take the sector or just retrieve the probe and wait for orders."

Warty grimaced with scorn. "We retrieve the probe and wait for orders."

A'hat grinned deliciously and clapped his hands together. "No! Let's take the sector, then we'll all get a fancy promotion from Bandanor. Speaking of our _noble_ admiral, where is the rat bastard?"

"The Fleet is caught up near the edge of the sector. New HQ is the only planet they've taken. We've already taken the entire Sinagig system and are on the verge of taking Duhnoe." He paused for a moment. "I like your spirit, A'hat. However, a fancy promotion isn't what I had in mind."

"What _do _you want?" asked Warty. "A planet for yourself."

"Not exactly." He leaned forward. "What I'm about to say will be left in this room, understood?"

"Yes!"

"That all depends on what you're about to say."

Rugh nodded affectionately at Captain Warty, but A'hat leaped in. "Then would you kindly remain outside while we continue our council of war?"

"You just _love_ this sort of thing, don't you, Haresh?" Warty scooted his chair away from the table, but did not rise. "Please proceed, Captain Rugh."

Rugh left the meeting room with a sense of accomplishment. He had openly declared his plan and most of the reasons for his actions and had walked away with two co-conspirators. If only he had applied for a diplomatic occupation, the war would be over and the Empire would still have Coruscant. _If it weren't for that Ysanne Isard, we'd still have Coruscant anyway_.

He clenched his fists together at the thought of Iceheart and almost puked in the turbolift. The nerve of her, relinquishing the Empire's hold on Coruscant in order to kill thousands upon thousands of innocent beings with the ghastly Krytos Virus.

He would have liked to kill her, but in order to he would have had to pick a number and step in line for fifty years.

The turbolift took him to the floor where his quarters were located. He let his two bodyguards return to their own quarters and entered his own. It was smaller than his suite on the _Vigilante_ but it would do for the next few days.

He moved over to his computer terminal and flicked it on. He asked the computer to pull up the _Vigilante_'s flight log and it responded accordingly. It had arrived at Duhnoe on schedule and encountered no hostilities from the Duhnoens.

As per Rugh's previous orders, a shuttle was docking with the station, presumable containing Lieutenant Gonoe and the diplomatic forces. Everything seemed to be in check with Duhnoe, so he returned to the main screen and pulled up the log of the tracking device he had so cleverly planted on Tilin Vor'shak.

The Ambassador was currently having a drink with three life forms in a cantina on the planet in which Harvest orbited. Rugh had requested Vor'shak to stick to section 134 where the guards he had placed in case of danger resided, but the sly, old man had given them the slip and had made his way to section 139 for a fresh one.

Rugh marveled at the thought of Vor'shak's ingenuity and decided against sending the guards to Derengera 5. If Vor'shak got into any trouble, he would be on his own, and Rugh, at most, would be compelled to write a letter to the ambassador's government, sending them his condolences.

His computer suddenly chimed and another menu popped up in front of Vor'shak. It was a message from out-of-the-system, sending him a very important note. Rugh replied and thanked the informant, then turned off his terminal.

He leaned back in his leather chair, folded his arms behind his neck, and placed his feet atop the desk supporting the terminal.

To the empty room, he said, "It looks as if this is going to be easier than I could have ever imagined."

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

An X-wing, brandishing the temporary Sovereign Squadron marks and three new TIE Bombers painted along its hull below the others, was the first to emerge from hyperspace. It was followed by three more, which quickly formed up on his wing. Eight more craft, all bearing the Sovereign Squadron marks and one with a sole TIE Interceptor painted along its side, emerged a few seconds later and split up into two more flights, one of which pulled up along the left side the original group and the other on the right.

The four X-wings on the left made up Three Flight. The flight's leader claimed the spot at the front, and Twelve trailed off to the right. Eleven tucked his craft behind and two the right of Twelve, whereas Ten pulled in directly below Nine.

"Ten, Nine here. Do you copy?"

"I copy, Gus."

An image of the Bothan's fur rippling with irritation at the sound of his newly acquired nickname formed in the back of Ditch Necco's head, and he donned a slight grin.

"What's your position?" Something was obviously wrong with the X-wing Trainer's scanners that had Nine stumped. That could be attributed to Mr. Cocsiker's extensive tinkering with the ship before take-off.

"I'm currently one-and-a-half meters below the underside of your fuselage." Ditch pulled back on the flight stick, shortening the gap between the two ships. "Make that a half meter below you, sir."

"Quit jacking off down there and fall in behind me!" The order was harsh and unfair by Ditch's standards, but it was an _order_ and disobeying it would earn him a lot more than detention out here. _The Empire executed _their_ pilots for disobeying an order_.

"I copy, keep your skirt on." He reduced his speed to eighty percent and slowly glided out from underneath Nine. He jerked his fighter up once their was a meter's distance between Nine's engine and his nose, and matched his speed with that of Bro'shaw's.

Ditch pulled out a sack lunch Cocsiker had specially packed for him, and took a whiff of its contents. The effort was wasted, for he could only smell his soapy hands. Pikins had been really unforgiving that morning and had required Ditch to wash the office floor's hallways with his hands. He had washed his hands before jumping into X-wing, but a hint of the odor still remained. While he felt cramped and uncomfortable during the hour he had spent in within the X-wing, he felt relieved to be off Gaffeo 2 and out of Pikins jurisdiction. The portly man was inventing jobs for Ditch to do as his "slave", most of them being ones that were already done by janitors, mechanics, and urinal-scrubbers.

Mech tootled softly, letting Ditch know that the squadron comm frequency was now open and that the pilots were free to chat. He flicked a switch on his comm board and witnessed clattering between the squadmates. He turned it off, annoyed by the sonorous sounds emitted by the others. Mech argued, insisting that Commander Soner was addressing the group.

He sighed and flicked the switch back on.

"All right, squad, listen up. The _Zydrian_ and Flarrisk's people are scheduled to arrive in about a minute. Don't relax yet—this is only the first of this journey's ten legs. Flarrisk will take point this time, so we're on escort duty. Any questions?"

_Escort duty. Great. _He was not particularly fond of escort duty, but he could think of worse things to be doing at the time. Ditch grabbed a sandwich and took a chunk out of it. He decided to save the rest for later and returned the sack to the glove box.

"Where's the nearest pit stop? I got to take a piss."

"Be serious, Bootra."

"As ordered."

Ditch keyed his comm. "Did you come all the way from the Core like this?"

"I cut the trip into sections and stopped at all the refueller stations along the way. I was only in the cockpit for about twelve hours at a time. Needless to say, I ran four miles through the jungle once I got to Gaffeo Two."

A string of other questions and comments followed, most of them being unimportant.

The _Zydrian_ arrived on schedule, and twelve X-wings appeared in front of it. Seria would be in one of those, Ditch knew. The two hadn't had much time to talk that morning and had hardly seen each other, save when they woke up in the middle of the forest. The two were late to report, and both received a concise scolding by their commanding officers. The others were already airborne, and fixing to leave Ditch behind.

That's when Cocsiker threw a sack lunch to both pilots, and they had jumped in their fighters, ready for flight.

Commander Flarrisk hailed them, and spoke with Commander Soner on a secure channel. The conversation took much too long for a petty argument they shared regularly, but too short to be having a council-of-war. After about eight minutes, Flarrisk addressed both squadrons.

"The _Zydrian_'s having a little difficulty with its hyperdrive engines. It's nothing major, but it'll take a few minutes to sort out. My group will go on ahead and check out the next checkpoint. Soner and his, uh, _gang _will stay with the assault shuttle until they can jump out. We'll meet you at the fifth checkpoint if all goes as planned. Any questions?"

He received the same outbursts as Soner from the _gang_, as Flarrisk had called it, but this time their were a few more from Sovereign Squadron reinforcing them. Flarrisk wasn't amused.

The Sovereigns stuck around for another few minutes, conversing with the each other and the other group. Ditch tried to get through to Seria, but Dimm Larkin wouldn't shut up. He switched over to Widmua's frequency, but he was already shooting shit with Korb. Dae answered his hail and said, "'Sup Ditch? Hey, turn to this frequency I send you, but don't say anything over it."

Ditch waited to receive the numbers and reluctantly flicked the switch. "You're a good ride, Cale."

"You're not so bad yourself. Who am I kidding? You're twice as good as me. And you know how I like my . . ."

_Fuck me! _Ditch cupped his mouth to prevent a sudden outburst over the channel, and switched his frequency back to Dae's ship. "What the shit, Dae! Cut the horseshit and mind your own goddamn business."

"Sorry," the Duros acquiesced. "I got horny."

Ditch shivered in disgust at the mere hint of something so horrible as the alien's . . .

"Ditch!" A cranky Rodian's voice burst into his ship's comm unit, washing away hideous thoughts. "Turn your comm to—"

"Yeah, I already know."

"You're going to kick his ass, right?"

His brows wrinkled and he grew very curious about the situation. Why would he kick Soner's ass for talking to Carmen Vrinslath? Something was obviously amiss, and his concepts switched from the commander and Vrinslath over to someone else. He didn't wait for the frequency to be relayed to him, but paused when his index finger fell on the switch.

He hung there for a moment before making up his mind. He hit the switch, despite his reservations.

"Seria," Dimm Larkin began, "there's something important I need to talk to you about. It can wait until we get to Unngrae, but once there we _really_ need to talk. You know how I feel about you, and I know how you feel about me, so I know I can count on you."

"Of course, Dimm. Anything for you. I've been wanting to talk to you about something, too. I need to make a decision and I need your advice."

There was a brief, almost eerie pause that made Ditch teeming with anticipation. "I don't know how much of a help I can be. I need some advice on something myself, and because of our relationship, I think you're the only one who can understand this."

"Alright."

"Thanks, bye. Oh, and Seria . . ."

"What is it, Dimm?"

"Sovereigns! Re-form and prepare for hyperspace. We have to get a move on."

Ditch turned off his comm system entirely, and sank into his chair. He ignored the hails by his squadmates, and shut his eyes. He relaxed and calmed himself. He still couldn't understand why he should kick _Dimm_'s ass, even if it were physically possible for him to do so. He actually understood Dimm, in a sense.

_Oh, and Seria . . . I love you_.

Ditch knew those were to be the next words to come out of Dimmenos Larkin's mouth. Ramel was definitely wrong: Ditch, even after hearing the conversation, felt that it affected him and Seria in no way whatsoever. Of course, on Rodia, many such customs were different. He imagined that if he were covered in green scales and hideous beyond compare, he wouldn't feel to good hearing some guy hitting on his . . . what was she?

His Girlfriend? Just another friend? _What_?

He grabbed his face and shook it wildly. _Don't think on that now!_

Sovereign Squadron jumped out of sight, a few seconds later, leaving Soner's dozen behind with the shuttle. Ditch decided to switch back on his comm unit.

"Ramel, what the hell are you talking about?"

"Kick his ass back to wherever the hell he's from!"

"Can't you come up with anything better to say, Dae? You say that same goddamn phrase all the time."

He caught hint of a brief Rodian chuckle, which made Ditch's spine chatter. "See, Dae? He's getting warmed up for one hell of an ass-kicking contest."

"No, that's not it!"

"Hey, just chill, man. We're on your side."

"Cut the blabber, squad." Soner's voice was different, sounding more harsh and assertive than usual. He had lost his carefree, cheerful attitude that he had the night of the attack, and had grown stern within just the last twenty-four hours. _Of course I would be pretty carefree and cheerful too, considering what Soner had been up to before the attack_.

The squadron was ordered to rejoin formation in the rear of the _Zydrian_. Lieutenant Colonel Rin Dinjin, who would be flying the assault shuttle, was taking it slow. No one at Gaffeo 2 knew how to fly the craft, and the ship's original occupants had either died in the attack or disappeared thereafter. Since Dinjin was aboard the ship during the attack, he had been nominated as the ship's skipper.

Lieutenant Colonel Yughey was riding shot-gun, next to Dinjin, and Gapher Raidac was in the back with a platoon of Republic guards armed with the most sophisticated weaponry in Gaffeo 2's possession—which wasn't all that sophisticated. In the cargo hold, beyond the quadruple-locked doors lay the shiny, white probe that had some sort of top-secret information.

This brought a disturbing question to Ditch's mind: How did they know that this probe is worth the trouble? The attack two nights ago seemed to have subdued everyone else's suspicions, but Ditch wasn't convinced that it was worth dying for.

Rin Dinjin himself, who had emphasized the need to take the probe to Unngrae to be analyzed, had claimed he only knew the probe was worthwhile by Gytr Vopos's dying lecture. That Dinjin was swayed by the man was all good and well, but Dinjin had explained to everyone that even Vopos had his reservations about the probe's contents.

And what if Vopos_ had_ somehow scanned the probe, found out it was just some amateur porn tape, and decided to hand the probe over to the UDF anyway? That would certainly stir up the public and the UDF officials would be ruined for haggling with the Empire and abandoning the New Republic's principals.

Ditch grinned with delight at his creativity. _The UDF would be destroyed, the warlords would be humiliated for falling for such a sly trick, the New Republic would lose its hold on the sector, the sector itself would be left defenseless, and the Empire could march in and take everything for themselves._

Then Warlord Fiell would subjugate the sparsely defended, Imperial worlds but by that time a New Republic investigative fleet would show up and take out Fiell _and_ Bandanor. After that, they'd apologize to Unngrae for any inconvenience they had caused the sector, move out, and kill all contact with the Rim, once again.

Ditch formed up behind and to the left of Nine and matched his speed with the _Zydrian_.

Assault shuttles were ordinarily slow, going only about half the speed of an X-wing. Ditch grimaced, reading his throttle as thirty-nine percent of maximum speed.

"Lead, what's up with the _Zydrian_?"

"_Zy_'s fine. Ten, you should really say who you are over the comm. It's easier to communicate that way and it will help a lot if we see any—_Shit!_" Soner broke up for a moment, then came back. "Speak of the goddamn devil! My Artoo unit is picking up multiple bogeys inbound at eleven o'clock."

Ditch glanced at his heads-up display as he frantically flipped on his weapon and targeting systems. "Mech, give me a readout on them. Check if they're hostile."

He had a clear visual through his forward viewport. Four ships, all bearing teeth. They were a bit larger than the X-wings, but smaller than the Assault Shuttle. The ships looked like long daggers, with three inverted fins placed equally apart from each other around the hull of the ship. They were all white, with blue paint tracing the outline of the cockpits and fins. Ditch easily recognized the craft as Skipray Blastboats, an older Imperial design used as heavy bombers aboard large ships.

"Hey, Lead, Seven here. I see some blastboats, but where's the _shit_ at?"

"Shut the fuck up, Bootra."

"Touchy, touchy." Dae clicked out.

"Lead, Nine here. What's the plan."

"They're notifying us to stand down or be destroyed. We're not standing for that, so break by pairs. Two and Three Flights, fly in opposite directions at an angle leaning toward them until they come as close as four klicks, then turn around and hit them from both sides. Three and Four, stay back to protect _Zy_. Two, follow me."

Leader and Two kicked up their throttles to full and headed straight for the incoming craft. Ditch yawed right and followed Nine toward the blackness of space, with Eleven and Twelve flying at a ten-degree angle from Ditch, their vertex being the shuttle.

Ditch targeted the closest ship and waited until it crossed the four kilometer barrier from the shuttle. Once it had arrived, Mech hooted enthusiastically, and Ditch ruddered his ship back toward the shuttle.

The blastboats fired first, emphasizing the fact that they were hostile. Mech let out a cry that sent a shiver up Ditch's spine. _They're hostile? No shit?_

The blasts slammed into One and Two's forward shields, sending them in a spin that took a few moments for them to recover and line back up with their assailants.

He switched his blaster cannons to quadruple-fire and headed straight in front of the blastboats. Lead fired first, sending two well-aimed blaster bolts into the fore section of the craft. The blastboat's shields absorbed the laser with ease and returned fire. Soner and his escort, however, were not there anymore.

Ditch crossed the last kilometer between him and the blastboats, waited for his brackets to go red, and fired in unison with the Bothan beside him. Ten and Eleven fired a second later, sending multiple blasts past Ditch's cockpit, nearly grazing the transparisteel.

Sixteen lasers caught the four blastboats from the side, scoring hits on two of them. The lead assailant, who was still recovering from the last hit, lost its shields in the attack and his wingman's were failing.

Two Flight hit them from the other side, all sixteen hits slamming into the second ship, taking out its shields and piercing its hull. The ship deviated from its original course and pulled up behind Three Flight.

Ditch flew past the four ships, sending off a quad blast into the first ship's hull. The ship lost two fins, sending it in a long and dangerous roll filled with fire and leaking oxides. Bro'shaw finished her off with a quick burst and pulled up. The Bothan rolled up on its wings and leveled them out over Ditch.

"Nice shot, Nine."

Lonnell Jax's statement was interrupted by a spray of green energy bolts pumped into her underside, knocking out her shields and leaving her defenseless. Yughey, her wingman, fired two sets of dual fire into Jax's tail, but the blastboat kept on its target.

The blastboat fired again, shattering Jax's lower right wing and causing her to barrel-roll for a half-second before regaining control and inverting her craft. Bro'shaw pitched up, grabbing the blastboats fuselage underneath his brackets, and fired three single bolts.

Ditch didn't stick around to watch the outcome and turned his craft around until he had the only unengaged enemy so far in his sights. Before he could fire, Soner vaped the lead enemy, and Max Kadar hammered Ditch's target mercilessly.

The blastboat pulled up and fired thrice at the Sullustan, causing Kadar to break off and leave the fight. The Skipray Blastboat arched its fire, catching Ditch's shields off-guard and charring a section of his fuselage in front of Mech, who voiced his objection to the battle.

Dae caught the final craft halfway through its strafing run at Ditch, scarring the ship and disabling its blaster cannons. The blastboat launched a concussion missile before Dae finished him off, and a projectile flew in between Ditch's S-foils. _Holy fuck!_

He ruddered his craft around to catch sight of the missile, and discovered that its target was nothing other than the assault shuttle. Ditch squeezed his firing button on his stick, but the shots missed the missile.

"Three, can you intercept that missile?"

"I'm on it." Although Bilona Tole's voice didn't interpret it, Ditch sensed resignation. The pilot performed flawlessly, however. She smashed the missile to pieces with a quick burst of energy bolts and rejoined formation behind the shuttle, as if nothing had happened.

_Alright, so you're a good actress. You've still had the shit scared out of you_.

"Is that everyone?" asked Ditch.

"The skies are clear—Oh, shit." Soner relayed the coordinates of a vector to everyone. "We've got eight more blastboats. _Zy_, how's you're hyperdrive doing?"

Colonel Yughey responded. "Uh, we're on-line, but—"

"Save it and punch it, _Zydrian_."

"But—"

"I don't want to hear it. Just _go_! Squad, jump the hell out of here to the second checkpoint."

Before the eight ships were anywhere close to firing range, the shuttle and the twelve X-wing had jumped out.

Dopkin Flarrisk grinned broadly as he leaned back and relaxed in the snug cockpit of his X-wing starfighter. He donned the shitty grin for no other reason than his own intelligence. He prided himself as perhaps the most talented pilot in the sector, maybe even the Outer Rim. In addition, he felt as if he was the best commander in the entire Galaxy, his thoughts of his own sheer genius outweighing his belief that Luke Skywalker and Wedge Antilles were _good _commanders.

_I think this sub-squadron idea was brilliant, even though it was not entirely I that came up with the notion._ _Wait until my superiors hear about my progress. _Although he believed Rogue Squadron could vape his Sovereigns anytime and anyplace, he realized that they would soon surpass their Coreward counterparts. _My squadron would be even greater if it wasn't made up of Edgers_. That was all part of the challenge, however. Some of his pilots hailed from worlds primitive and unsophisticated, who would require a great leader, such as himself, to train as a functioning unit.

His smile widened as he imaged Two Flight's leader, who happened to be his best pilot, sitting in his cockpit, with his hands around his face, sulking about something. He glanced over to his favorite flight, picturing the other three pilots.

Seria Henarsi, Dimm's wing-_woman_, was, in his opinion, as hot as they came. She proved to be the talk of the crowd, whose name appeared on almost every _straight_ man's lips a few times during pilot conversations. She had a full parking lot, and then some, of admirers just waiting to take her out.

He could write a book, containing nothing other than the name's of Seria's admirers. He suspected Dimm Larkin, who constantly let her off easy in sim runs and tried to express his friendship in many ways, which were often _more_ than just friendly. Then there was Ditch Necco, who was the laughing stock of the "talk". The junior wouldn't approach her directly, although it was rumored that they had been spending a lot of private time together in the last day or so. Dozens of seniors, juniors, sophomores, and even freshman had tried to get on her sweet side once or twice, and even a handful of nonhumans were trying to snatch her.

Flarrisk prided himself as "the galaxy's sexiest man alive" although the HoloNet reporters hadn't published a story on him, _yet_. He stared at himself in the mirror, admiring his face and especially his goatee, for at least twenty minutes per day. Consequently, he _knew_ that Seria secretly admired him and that all's he needed to do was ask, and she'd unzip the fly on his flight suit. However, he was her commanding officer, and decided against asking her for some Head at that time.

"Alright, Sovereigns," he addressed after they had been in the second jump area for five minutes and were nearing their next jump time. "Hit the hyperdrive as soon as Soner's group arrives."

He received acknowledgments of his order, and then he ordered his R2 unit to recheck their next jump coordinates. Everything seemed to be in order, until an alarming voice screeched over the comm system.

"Commander Flarrisk, something's wrong! Go to a private channel!"

_Oh God, Dimm, I'm not going to talk to you about love now_. But he was glad Dimmenos knew enough to ask _him_.

He switched to a secure line. "Okay, Dimmenos. What's up?"

"Soner's in trouble?"

"And you know that how?"

Flarrisk's R2 unit bleeped excitedly, stating that they had to jump out in five seconds. Flarrisk told the others to prepare for the jump, and toggled his S-foils to closed position.

"I don't know," he said, sounding very frustrated. "I just know!"

Thirteen blips arrived on the bottom edge of Flarrisk's scanners. "They just jumped in and are perfectly fine." He switched back to the squadron's frequency. "All right, squadron, let's jump out."

Just to check Dimm's suspicions, he glanced at the rear view mirror and magnified the image until he could see the sub-squadron's pilots. Cale Soner was waving his arms frantically.

Flarrisk shrugged nonchalantly and waved back, then engaged his hyperdrive engines.

Ditch cursed to himself as Flarrisk jumped out of sight.

Surprisingly, two X-wings remained where the others had once been. The X-wings inverted and began flying in their direction. Ditch pointed the nose of his craft in that direction and powered up his engines to full speed.

"Lead to squadron. They're blocking our long-range transmissions, but that's not possible, unless—Damn, I hate it when I'm right. We've got a freighter on an intercept course with us, eight blastboats flying escort. Jump out to the next checkpoint."

"Seven here, we can't. That freighter's got itself an interdiction field set up."

Ditch scanned the freighter. Sure enough, the grey and black freighter, which resembled a circle as a head, with a rectangular mid-section, and a triangular rear, sported a gravity-well projector that prevented them from jumping to their intended course. "Those blastboats are going to be all over us in two minutes."

"One-thirty, actually," confirmed Dimmenos Larkin.

"'In God's name are you two doing here?"

"Disobeying orders, Commander Soner," offered Seria.

Ditch's eyes widened in disbelief and horror. "Seria!—"

"Ease off, Ditch," Soner said. "We're grateful you could join us in our deaths but it wasn't a wise decision. Anyone got any ideas on how to get out of here?"

"_Fuck _this shit," Jicks vented, "blast their asses into tin cans!"

"Hell yeah!" agreed Bootra.

"Lead, to Seven and Eleven. Shut the fuck up, you two! This is a serious situation and we don't need your commentary."

"_Yeah_, guys."

"You too, Vorax. Any _serious_ ideas?"

"Ditch?"

Necco folded his arms. _Seria, what are talking about? Oh, I _do_ have an idea but . . ._

"Have something to add, Ten?"

"No, sir."

Light rays flooded the ships and let out a blinding glare that made Ditch cover his eyes. The source of the rays was the freighter's triangular butt. His ship shuddered in rejection and Mech shrieked hoarsely. His instruments were flying around, and his board lit up with light, flames dancing around in front of his eyes. His control board was fried, and Mech had adapted the color of charred black.

A splitting headache occurred in his head, sending his head bobbing to and fro. Sweat drained from his body from the extreme heat that had suddenly been unleashed on him.

In one swift action, his laser cannons overheated and imploded, sending debris from his S-foils piercing the void. His vision came back just in time to see similar effects unleashed on the shuttle and the other thirteen pilots.

His suit was now melting, so he pulled off his jacket and stashed it behind his seat. In the final stages of the act, a compartment in his craft blew open and particles splattered against his transparisteel windshield, and he heard the hiss of an oxygen-filled space being depressurized.

Then the light came to an abrupt stop, and their was a written message on his HUD. It was from Soner, telling the squadron to engage hyperdrive at the coordinates listed below the note.

Ditch punched in the coordinates, and was not unhappy to leave the second checkpoint behind. This jump took the squadron, plus Dimm and Seria, to a position five minutes from their latest position. Ditch immediately switched on his comm unit. "May I ask what that was?"

A warbled, angry response from Soner was sent to the entire group. "That was a creation of Warlord Fiell. I've never seen such a device, but it had Fiell's name written all over it. This was a random jump we just made, but at least we're all together. It will take them only a few minutes to find out how we evaded their Interdictor, but that should be long enough. Did anyone else notice that half our systems are fried and that our hyperdrive coolant is leaking?"

_The hiss of depressurization . . . those particles must have been dehydrated gas_.

Dae, ever the informant, said, "Yes, we have enough for maybe an hour. That's not enough to make Unngrae. Ditch?"

"Why does everyone keep on asking me stuff?"

Seria said, "Because we know you're family lives around here. I could maybe even meet the parents."

"Hell, no. Nobody's meeting them."

"Ditch!" Seria protested.

"Sorry, but I can't risk it."

"Necco, as your commanding officer," began Soner, "I _order_ you to take us to your parents' place. We need a place to sort this out, and I just hope they got a good mechanic and a _lot_ of spare parts."


End file.
